#cc king

The second time it broke, my brothers tell me the bone stuck through the meat of my arm like a finger pointing to the sky. They tell me it glistened like a finger dipped in thick, viscous honey. I’ve heard the story from them, from the neighborhood kids who’d crowded around my fallen body like seagulls, from my mother (who wasn’t there), so many times, it’s as if the details of the day collected…