Pieces of Me Die Every DayBernadette Geyer
Last week, my right thumbnail— didn’t I tell you?— black as a Chevy tailpipe. And wouldn’t you know, three days ago it was a tooth— the sweet one. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the day before yesterday, I lost the foot that used to dance. Now I’m left with the foot that wants to run away. And yesterday a fist of cloud struck my right eye, though I can still feel the hopeless lump in my socket. It’s funny, but I don’t remember when or how this started. As luck would have it, that piece of me died this morning.
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