… but unpleasant experiences do make for interesting poetry.
Blood Draws Don’t Leave Scars
I keep a tally of blood draws
at the back of my mind.
Two times (too often) I’ve sat in that chair,
vinyl coating too thick
to let me sink in, so tall it was suffocating.
I always closed my eyes
tight, like squeezing the air out of them
would distract me from
the slowly suctioning sting.
It would take all of my focus
not to bend my elbow,
not to even think about it,
counting breaths like nauseated sheep.
Most days I try not to remember
but in the dark it’s harder to blink away
and I fall asleep counting blood draws
instead of sheep.
No comments:
Post a Comment