Boxing Day Eve

December 25, 2014
American Christmas

I don’t know anything about boxing, but I imagine taking so many blows to the body that the moment arrives, with the next jab, my stamina, strength, faith, hope run out, drain away. White with exhaustion, I stagger to the floor.

          Not out: I can see; I can hear. It's as if I've been kicked in the groin. The pain pushes outward from diaphragm through arms and legs to the tips of my fingers and toes; it oozes from the soles of my feet, my shoulders, and the crown of my head, then rushes back in. I am not out, but I cannot stand. I cannot move. I can’t even blink until the light crushes my eyes, and I close them to squeeze out the tears.

 W

 And, yeah! . . . I do know.