0 Inoperable

My uncle fastened
his tire to the tree
when I was ten.

I would practice
my sax to the rhythm
of the swing, arching

in the wind. It moved
like a conductor’s baton,
commanding tempo.

The rope frayed
like the end of my uncle’s
signature, releasing him

from the hospital.
He had cancer.
Knots on his spine made him

inoperable. Quiet. I am
hesitant to sit on the tire,
the strands are brittle.

--Javier M., 24