When my cast came off in November

my foot and ankle looked like a prop

from a 70’s horror movie.

The gash from my ankle bone to the back

of my heel, Frankenstein-ien.

My ashen foot swollen and grim, the color

tinged with a green you’d find in a dying pond.

Today, when the second cast

came off, the steely blade cutting

it free, my skin now looks like

that of an elephant’s—thick and lead dull.

Colleen, my physical therapist says

this is what happens to skin when

it isn’t getting air.

My toes bob like a pigeon’s head

as the rest of my foot tries to follow.

My heel bruised and tender, my arch a silver bridge

between them. My nerves like cinders,

my blood, slag, I begin rebuilding, remembering

how hard the car and the road were,

how soft and gray the sky above me was.

jks January, 2025