“I’m sorry, I know you loved that place. Sure as hell, I did too. But it just wasn’t making us money anymore.”

I picture it closed up, the red walls fading, the meat scent evaporating. I hang up the phone, pulled back into drugged sleep.

DAY 1: MY MOTHER TENDS MY WOUNDS

Day 2: My mother tends my wounds

Day 3: The wounds are tended by my mother

Day 4: I am a wound tended to by a mother

Day 5: A series of my wounds are tended to by my mother

Day 6: My mother is the tender of my wounds

Day 7: A wound is tended to by a mother which is mine

Day 8: In a garden of wounds, my mother is the gardener

Day 9: A constellation of wounds is named by my mother

Day 10: My wounds are a tender mother

Day 11: My mother tends the wounds and I begin to walk again

Day 12: My mother is the wound-tender and I walk up and down the stairs

Day 13: I tend the wounds and walk the stairs

Day 14: I tend the wounds and sleep

Day 15: I tend my own wounds

Day 16: I am the wound-tender

Day 17: The wounds are mouths to which I tend, my small children

Day 18: Wounds are tended by my hand

Day 19: Alone, I tend the wounds

Day 20: I lose track of the days, tending the wounds

Day 21: I fall into a deep trance at the cut of the light through the blinds, casting patterns onto the walls

Day 22: I pluck the stitches from the wounds like feathers from a bird, strange wires pulled from my body

Day 23: I trace the wounds with my fingers, then I touch myself, thinking of the last man from the bar

Day 24: The doctor’s office is brighter than ever.

“How are we?” he winks, lifting my dress.

He traces my wounds with his fingers.

“Very nice. You must’ve had a talented surgeon,” he smiles. “Now, let’s see you walk.”

I walk for him and he nods.

“Now let’s get you back to work,” he says.

I put my dress back on, no more robes, no more gowns, no more needles in the veins, no more stitches. I walk out into the world knotless.

I CLIMB INTO THE WHITE PORCELAIN TUB slowly, with care. I wash myself the same: soft motions across the scars with the soap, a low lather across the skin, a gentle raising of the hands to the hair to cleanse the scalp. I move so carefully my mind goes blank.