Phantom Limb
A dead fly lay
on the side of the bed where
my husband flopped
his arm as it I weren't there---
only the arm
which he had already lost
during the war. He slept
mostly naked, like pain,
and the sheets
twisted around him
at night until his skin was scuffed
with red marks.
He never remembered
his dreams,
or that he crushed
insects with his live arm
all the while
pretending
they were phantom itch.
When morning came,
he held my hand
so tightly that
I grew afraid of the sound
our bones
would make
when we crumble.
