my dog stops to mark each abandoned Christmas tree that has found its grave on the sidewalk of Keswick Road
Tonight I am walking in boots with laces instead of a Velcro post-surgery shoe Each step echoes an ache that cannot ever fully heal
Half of the porches in Baltimore are adorned with holiday lights others with pumpkins, forgotten
The fruit bowl in my kitchen still holds fruit given months ago by a sympathetic neighbor Some spots on the apples from Ari are finally becoming soft and brown – I eat around the rot
My torso and arms are strewn with black and blue kisses, the result of weeks on crutches My bruised ribs confess: the real hurt was under here
Tonight I am walking with a swollen foot, a swollen heart but no longer broken