Teresa White
OUTSIDE THE LINES
There’s 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
kaleidoscope.
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 can’t.
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.
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