Spend Your Fire
Fifty Fahrenheit. The Snowflakes that make it at fifty degrees Fahrenheit. Some women are like that. Some men. Individual every-bodies. Some of us hold on long enough to touch down.
That one day my immune system had me in bed, (was it bed?), nothing left to vomit. My mouth was ‘back-from-gut-Gatorade’. Blankets weren’t covered in sweat and vomit. They were sweat. They were vomit.