resilient

Photo by Jackson Simmer on Unsplash

I’m standing in the hospital waiting room wishing it didn’t smell like artificial lemons, not wanting this to be my present. But I am here. My brother’s pokey hair is the first thing I see in the river of strangers that pour from the swinging doors. He smiles when he sees me standing near the nurse station coming undone. You know one of those I’m sorry this sucks smiles. My brother is good at those. I have given him plenty of opportunities to practice showing his pity.

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J Dawson

J Dawson

Writes literary fiction with a speculative bent. A parent of teens. Accidental house flipper. Friend of cats and dogs. Kindness matters. ND Bi (she/they)