I’m haunted by diabetes. Metformin twice daily. Finger pricks determine glucose levels after testing strips absorb the sticky drops. This disease is god’s punishment for gobbling fudge at Martha’s Vineyard. Sugared butter on the waterfront shriveled my kidneys and tainted my blood. I cringe whenever catching my reflection off the glass. I resemble my old man after the big operation that did him in.
I used Old Testament tongues at my gate in Kennedy Airport. What I said I’ll never know. Passing pilots winced. I’m certain I’ve had past lives. Perhaps I was Julius Caesar galloping his white steed into battle before the Ides of March.
I pray to Gabriel. I ask him to fly me to the Land of Nod so I can kneel at Abel’s grave. Then I’ll hike west for the Tree of Knowledge, where Cain carved images of Adam and Eve in the trunk. That tree might still be alive. After all, it bore the divine fruit that turned man mortal. I’ll pluck golden apples off its branches and hurl them deep into the sky.