Teresa White


Thereís nothing to do in the middle
of the night so we color monarchs
on roses, fish, and fowl.
I watch Billy sucked into his own

We are instructed to keep our voices down.
This is no place for sissies.

Fee, fi, fo, fum, we mumble
when the phlebotomist comes
swinging her little carryall
filled with vials and needles.

Our blood speaks even when we canít.
None of us can sleep.
We walk round and round the ward
till our feet blister in their paper slippers.

Most of us will return.

Location: Spokane, Washington
Occupation: Volunteer for local police department
Email: whiteheart_1998@yahoo.com
Website: http://members.tripod.com/~whiteheart2/index.html
Publications: The Melic Review, Poet's Canvas, Eye Dialect, In Posse Review, Rose & Thorn, Small Spiral Notebook, Tryst, Poetry Sz
Book: In What Furnace?
Awards: Pushcart Prize nominee

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