—TURN AND FACE THE STRAIN

 

 

Brick Room

 

 

She says, “But I’m not a bleeder.”

Her eyes are alarm clocks blinking.

Her knees bounce.

These places are so white and so tight.

The woman coming up to us

is not a nurse but her voice is soft.

She says they’re ready for my daughter now.

Walking down the white-walled hall I hear her

tell Amy not to worry, that she made the right choice.

Amy lifts her rag doll head then,

a thin smile parting open,                                                      

looks over her shoulder at me and says,

“See Dad, I’m not a murderer.”