Source

He purged the sick with glinting blades.
Flayed their pain

into a sterile bowl.
Painted snowy trees on his days off

to try to forget.
When the white ran dry

he crushed pills to paste,
rounding out the landscape.

I carry his name,
dark hair and stethoscope;

spin words from thread to silver
on my days off

to try to forget.

images

http://www.thirdspacemag.com/fiction.html

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