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I smell the coolness of an alcohol swab,

as if one were moistening my arm’s desert veins.

 

I was familiar

with the needle diving under;

seeing my blood escape into seventeen vials.

 

I was familiar

with the attentive presence;

their breathing skin I felt through sterile gloves

as they encouraged me to keep my fist closed;

their hand on my back as they listened to my heartbeat;

the closeness of a maternal being.

 

Nostalgia invites

spiked coils to resume

twisting and tearing muscles;

for loose keys to burrow between joints.

 

A desperate invitation

to remedy such a common affliction.

 

 

 

Jada Yee‘s work has appeared in Poydras Review, The Paragon Journal, The Birds We Piled Loosely, The Sacred Cow Magazine, and others.

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