lax and cracking, like a painted petal falling apart at the seams. she needles and threads through another day while her spine unravels at her children’s fingertips. i sat solemnly on the porch waiting for the sun to bring some warmth to these bones. a dog across the street mangled the hedges and my neighbor lost his mind throwing cartons of cigarettes at it. these are the things dreams are made sour, she said, and rolled off the skin from her elbow down to her wrist like a glove, bloody and thick. between the veins and bones i saw a pulse and then could not see anymore. to be blind in the heat, i whispered, to be simply blind.