A River Is a Body Running — Split Lip Magazine

The first time I found my brother
overdosed, he looked holy. A thing
not to be touched. Yellow halo of last
night’s dinner. His skin, blanched blue
fresco: Patron Saint of Smack. A cop,
flustered, tugged up his shorts, plunged
a needle into a pale thigh. He hissed
awake like a soda can. The paramedic
spoke slowly in his ear like a lover,
asked him what color yellow and red
make. What is the difference between
a lake and a river? In the corner I
whittle my brother’s used syringe
into an instrument only I can play.

Steven Espada Dawson (@stevenespadaw) is a writer from East Los Angeles, now working out of Austin, Texas. The son of a Mexican immigrant, his poems appear/appear soon in The Adroit Journal, Best New Poets 2020, Copper Nickel, Gulf Coast, and Kenyon Review Online, among other journals.