Everything Bleeds
by Michael R. Fosburg
She fell, again, scraped her knee
on the sun-warmed curb
and came crying
to my side.
She had never before
seen blood.
I shushed her, unfolded
a bright blue band-aid
across the weeping gash
and cupped her cheek.
(Scars on my palm
pale like dried canals)
“Everything bleeds,” I said,
and sent her off to play.
Even us, now.
I savored the thought,
our mortal stink
and sweat
sweeter
than all of Heaven’s stardust.
