We decided to forgo the usual

exchange of gifts, and instead 

engage the services of a therapist 

to help us stitch the two halves 

of our lives back together.  


I imagined a seamstress, 

who might tell us 

that the fabric of love is indivisible, 

woven with the tensile strength 

of otherworldly materials

from what neither eye nor heart

can perceive.


But he, I feared, longed for a surgeon

who would teach us instead how — 

with training and precision — 

we might sever the remaining ligaments 

and tendons that bind a dying limb 

to the body, 


how we might dam up 

the rivers of blood so the heart 

can no longer supply the phantom member

that, once discarded, the mind 

somehow continues to feel. 



 — AE Hines

Originally published in Third Wednesday, Vol. XI, No. 1, Winter 2018 issue.


© 2017 by AE Hines.  All Rights Reserved.  

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