Dysplasia

After surgery your pain, your pain. Unfiltered. And you didn’t want narcotics. Showering with your mother, you both cried. Your hip, sliced, rotated, was just beginning a new life, frenzied bone, new, angry with your surgeon. It’s time for the other side now mere days away. I’m shaking. Today you wear a sweatshirt proclaiming “Everything Hurts,” in muted defiance.