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
