Manny.

• Author: Schmidt, Lauren
• Position: Poem

For Manny and all other visitors of The Dining Room, Eugene, Oregon, 2009

Manny got a job today. After nine months of pushing peas around his plate, eyes he could not bear to lift, Manny got a job today. Then this could be the day the burns on Berta's arm iron out and tighten, the day her butterfly fingers separate from the cocoon of cells that swathes them. This could be the day she pulls her shirt over her shoulder, lengthens her limb through the sleeve with ease, extends the crook, fused in a melted web of skin, so she no longer smuggles her arm in the belly of her shirt as if to soothe an ache. This could be the day the rot in Rico's leg dries its vast jungle, the day the claw of red ripped skin releases its grip in the heart-shaped carve of his calf, the day his cane is used for dancing. This could be the day the scourge of sores on Salena's lips seal shut, the day the yellow-green scabs flake away and her moldy breath sweetens. This could be the day the fear coiled in Doyle's mind lifts like smoke rings and fades, the day he forgets his wife's bones he put above a fire. This could be the day Jay's machine-gun gibberish becomes prayer or poetry, praise, or warning, the day the tank in his throat cranks its belts into the soft pulses of a baritone, the day he learns to sing. This could be the day the scar that halves Marva's face unzips, the day her albino eye flushes its gray and glimmers, warm with brown and sight again, the day the right side of her face sits on the throne of...