Читать книгу Weak Devotions - Luke Hankins - Страница 9

I’ve drawn blood

from others, in my childhood,

even friends and kin—

slit the heavy garment

of skin or split sinus caves

with my hard fist.

Very young, I cried

if my sister hurt herself.

Later, her hot blood slicked

my hammering hand—

that hurt was, more

than hers, my own.

And she wept for me.