The Hook and the Loop

The minister is talking about the kingdom of heaven,

but my wrist is stuck in a smaller, tighter hell.

The brace is too tight, the heat is a weight,

so I reach for the strap while the family prays.

Rrip.

It’s the sound of a thousand tiny teeth

letting go of the only thing they know.

A synthetic scream in the middle of a hymn,

short and violent and entirely my fault.

I look at the strap—the gray, matted lint,

the stray blonde hair caught in the plastic grip.

It’s a mess of hooks that won't hold anymore,

frayed and tired and losing its zip.