THE FIXER | Dana Esau Larsen

I have to break my promise
to the broken of the species

Vow not to prop up their droopy heads or
erase their mouths of
that rectangle of pain
in which they are frozen

They gesture with gray hands and
grasp at my ankles
not to go just yet
Must smooth the wrinkles
I didn't crease

Must shut my ears
lest I be yanked down
with the grieving

But I'm all they have
In an hour
I'll close for business
In a week