By Judith Evans | Featured Contributor
Heavy steps through the clinic door.
Scores of faces, waiting room eyes
Follow my feet to the check-in desk.
Finally, a space for my face near the water cooler.
18 minutes of freedom, wishing our dog were here.
I dream, screaming silently till I hear my name.
Dead down the hall: sterile chairs, swabs, lidocaine,
Blood draw, raw nerves, tsk tsk near the back of my head.
Are you in pain? As if I were deaf.
No space for my face any more.
Meanwhile, it’s snowing.
Will this freeze cease?
Ease my arms through warm fleece sleeves.
Thoughts race, raw,
Pause as our reserved ride pulls up.
Better late than never.
I hear my name.
Going home? A smile for me.
Snowflakes breeze by blurred trees.
I bet our dog is deep asleep.
I look out the car window.
Somewhere between I-84 and our front yard,
My face becomes my own again.
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Categories: All Poetry, Featured Authors, Featured Poetry, Medical Poetry
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