Escape Joy works at the scabs beneath the cast on her right arm and she watches her family enjoy each other through lowered eyes, studies her grandmother, dressed in ill-fitting, musty clothing, staring into night, picking picking picking at imaginary threads on the wheelchair armrest. Her grandfather stands nearby, talking with her mother and father, one foot turned out toward the wheelchair. With her good hand, Joy rubs her eyes, helps clear the table, and settles in for television under the Christmas tree. _________________________________________________________
first published in Zygote in My Coffee
Brendan McEntee 