Insulin Dependent – Day 4

The news left footfalls as a pair of red,
patent leather stilettos refuse to be ignored.
Gaudy and unpalatable in my mind.
Type 1. Where 15 is a magic number. Though,
there are no casters and the world of Harry Potter
lives inside a book. I read stories to my son each night.
Him, snuggled close—closer—by my side. He favors humor
and I applaud him for maintaining his. This silent suffering and buzzing
of bees are tiny finger-pricks in the blanket of night and marrow of morning.
The day’s sap spills into the next, and the night’s nectar is tainted now.
I’m a mammalian bat who flaps with fury into the prejudicial silence
as I check for breath during the artist’s hour. He sleeps. I’m flummoxed.
My wingspan is greater now, and he has red patent pokes ripe upon his flesh.
I count carbs in circles. And swoop down to deliver each dose of this substance,
this thing his body can no longer produce. Each meal is practical math.
Each snack a formula. I am now a scientist and he is my jewel, a brilliant pearl.
I wear stilettos. Black. And he blows me a kiss as he hops out of my car with his backpack.
School will numb his mind (and work mine) until the hour we return to being side-by-side

© Grace Black

Write Yourself Alive – 30 Days of Writing  #writeyourselfalive 

Today is Day 4 of WYA  I’m a tad late to the party (I just found out about this wonderful opportunity yesterday) but I’m here now. So let’s write…

Love and Ink,
Grace

Words, love them! Have some? Leave them.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s