He pulls doorknobs from shattered wood,
crushes wicker chairs,
cracks the glass kitchen table,
raises bruises and welts.
When he commands, your fingers
prepare his steroid syringes,
plunge a needle past hard muscle,
ding solid bone.
Cancer is the disease of resentment, you said.
During the months of chemotherapy,
he piled pillows against your writhing body,
left you seizing in a closet by yourself.
Now, you file divorce papers,
evict his wreckage, trade
news clippings and Ironman trophies
for freedom, resurrect your old unbroken self.
Jennifer Lagier’s work has been published in U.S. and international anthologies, journals and e-zines.