Skinning the Gloves
You box to forget her. The soft olive skin, how she walked as if straddling a line, the no-names of children you will never have. And this hurts when you look at your hands. Pain comes with each punch. You’re told to step into it, the pain. And so you do. You face the nightmares where you can’t quite touch her, cannot reach, and maybe she has come to you in the night, gotten a hold of you and said, Where, where are you hurt so bad? And so you point. You point to all these places with a fist.
Photo credit: SardonicusMaxim
Splendid. Thanks.
Superb writing and emotion, thanks! Jeff
This is potent–as a sucker punch–that you know well the first time.