Today, I
cut my finger
while slicing an apple.
As the blade sunk,
I saw my cells
bow and die
before the blade.
Just as my brother’s cells
turned against him,
eating him from the inside out.
In Technicolor nightmares,
He bled
in cherry red
and neon blue hues.
Fruit of a womb,
he was buried
like so many dreams
we give up -
allow to die.
Years later,
his last gasp
lost to a silent void.
I stand to guard
precious little I have,
Afraid
if I blink too much
all will vanish before my eyes.
And the apple
devoured,
before my blood had even dried.
Jana Carrey,
April 2004,
June 2009
