The car slipped

down 95 south

at the eggshell break

of dusk.

 

I couldn’t stop screaming.

She kept driving,

pulling over often

so I could get out

and scream at the sun

because it wasn’t there;

so I could hunch over

into my pain

my belly.

 

And off we’d go again.

 

I punched at the windshield

with my lips

that were on fire

with the rest of me.

 

My father,

my dear sweet father,

half Army Colonel,

half angel,

met us at their apartment in Waltham.

 

The burning sun in my gut grew into a gruesome dawn.

 

He embraced me and off we were to Saint Elizabeth’s.

I didn’t know it was possible to scream so loud,

to hate your body so much,

to be so open to the lights above the barren trees…

 

Two Doctors. They are middle eastern

and I can’t answer them-

hell doesn’t have thin walls.

 

Finally, when I ached for the end,

for the center of me to finally stop spinning,

I found a softness in my mouth and said it.

 

“Thank You, Jesus, for healing me.”

I smiled, and the pain ran away.

 

One doctor stood there and stared at me for five wordless minutes.

 

The other? He shook his head and left the room to find my father.

And every time the burning apple in my center would start to flare,

I’d say those words again, and smile, knowing

 

that Jesus is carrying this cross for me.

 

I