Transparent tubes divided Phils blood into shades of red, fading to straw colored plasma. I watched his fluid swirl past his shoulders and disappear into machines. He offered himself to blood banks all over the city, his plasma rushed to hospitals where it would circulate through other peoples bodies. The map of my loves tapped arteries would look like a bloodshot eye over the city of Albuquerque. His blood bought us dinner. I dreamed he was my mother, and I nursed his arm. I wrote a poem about it, how I suckled his arm dry like a sore teat.
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About Jalina Mhyana, Dreaming in Night Vision: A Story in Vignettes
Jalina Mhyana, Dreaming in Night Vision: A Story in Vignettes.