the silver dollar cotton pads
and seeps onto my pale fingertips.
I pressed the cotton
against my bleeding skin
and shivered.
to keep the writhing scream inside
I clenched a cold rag
between my baby teeth.
still crooked.
still growing.
alcohol intertwined with my
pulsating
twig-like frame.
blood rushes to the area
like waves rushing to meet
sand-sunken toes.
no one holds my hand or
fits the bandage over
the skinned knee-cap.
I wince
and tie the bandage.
elevate, reduce the pressure
and, eventually,
heal
Author Bio:
Sara Reynolds Cox is an English major at Cumberland University. Her hometown is located just outside of Nashville, but her roots are in an itty-bitty town in North Alabama. A natural lover of words, she has dabbled in writing for as long as she can remember and was awarded the John MacDougall Literary Award from Volunteer State Community College for one of her poems. Sara's primary mission is to carry a message of hope through writing to those coping with trauma. Her dream is to someday practice expressive art therapy, but for now, she is waiting on her Higher Power to show her the next step-- whatever that might be.