by John Angelo Alonzo

We’re only halfway through the season
of swollen ankles, when the rain
and longer days catch us by surprise.
Not that I really mind. After all,
we have enough to worry about and it
only hurts when you turn it this way.
Here we are, all elbows and grazed knees,
struggling with my socks by the door,
while you massage your back with a warm
boiled egg. We feel like we’ve stumbled
upon the smallest of miracles, now that we have
something to hold our bandages in place.
It can’t stay this way forever. But some
part of me finds it hard to believe
that our unlucky skeletons could walk
on their own. I never expected it to be
this soothing, to feel your hands moving
like hot water over my bones.