Monday night, I sprain my ankle
\nplaying ball. And I keep playing.
\nAt my place, my foot swells brown
\naround the heel, black in the toes. <\/p>\n
Mom calls. Her voice is afraid.
\nIt\u2019s Jane again. She hasn\u2019t come home
\nin days. Last time, they found her
\nemptied car before picking her up. <\/p>\n
At three a.m., I wake up, take a piss,
\nfeel blood stutter down my leg
\nthrough the lumped bruises. Back in bed,
\nmy foot throbs like a dying fish. <\/p>\n
The log of my body writhes over Monday night, I sprain my ankle playing ball. And I keep playing. At my place, my foot swells brown around the heel, black in the toes. Mom calls. Her voice is afraid. It\u2019s Jane again. She hasn\u2019t come home in days. Last time, they found her emptied car before picking her up. At three a.m., […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":22,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"spay_email":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false},"categories":[16],"tags":[25],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6Jypy-1Jw","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6666"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/22"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=6666"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6666\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":10093,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6666\/revisions\/10093"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=6666"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=6666"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=6666"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\na dull fire spreading nervously.
\nI curse until it eases, enough
\nto sleep.
\n I dream of my father
\nand his knife collection. Each one
\nwith a smooth handle\u2014whale bone
\nor steel, bearing alien monograms.
\nHe sits on a squeaky, wooden chair,
\nchews Red Man, hones a warm blade.
\nHe spits and says, keep this here fine,
\nand you won\u2019t even feel it go through<\/em><\/p>\nJesse Breite<\/a><\/h6>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"