You haven’t lived

 

‘til you’ve had somethin’ dig around in your brain, son.

It’s an awful stillness comes with bein’ controlled, like hell frozen over.

Surrounded by kin in the hallway–God bless their souls–

and maybe he’ll join ‘em. Fade right into that wallpaper

and make home with the millipedes and spiders.

 

Damn Louisiana dampness breeds mold. Thick around that dark, metal tomb and heavy in the air over the bayou.

 

There’s somethin’ growin’ under his skin and he doesn’t know what.

Wakes up coughin’ muddy water while his wife

sleeps on through the night like a damn tornado couldn’t wake her.

Scrapes his finger on a rusty nail fallin’ outta bed,

and he’s less worried ‘bout tetanus than about

his blood on the floor, thick and dark

like an oil spill. The cut’s gone when he rises in the morning.

 

The nightmares get real bad after that.

 

He dreams about blood in his throat, hot and thick,

stomach full for the first time in a week.

He wakes up cryin’ into his pillow.

Thirstier than ever.

 

When he doesn’t come to bed the next night, she finds him

 

knee-deep in the marsh. Up to his wrists in gore. Good lord,

she’s never seen another livin’ thing’s eyes glow like that

in the high beams of their busted ol’ ford ranger. Not ‘til now.

He wipes his mouth on the back of the coat she got him

for Christmas four years ago. Catches her gaze an’ doesn’t look away while he tears into flesh like nothin’. Like paper. Grinnin’ like she should be proud.

 

He cuts carrots for dinner the day after,

and she can’t stop starin’ at the blood

still caked under his fingernails.

Schlick, goes the knife, and she thinks of

the crunch of that poor doe’s bones.

The soup bubbles.

She can’t look him in his eyes.