by Kelley Jean White MD

    You patched the wall
    above your favorite
    TV watching chair
    but it is a dull scraped
    scar; it draws the eye
    like light glint on armor.
    There, on the day my father
    died, after I asked to sit
    in your house, to not
    be alone, there, on the day
    you were fired from
    another patched in job
    that that woman I hate
    recommended, there
    is where your fist broke
    plaster before it broke
    against my jaw.

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