By Laura Tuggle Anderson 2004
A drop of blood encased in smooth
Blown onto the tissue
Held away from my surprised face.
Looking at the perfect formation
Red, pure red, feathered at the edges,
Inside the snot that sneezed it out
I think of tumors
Wheezing father lying prone
Waiting to eat
Not IV juice but
Real solid food that makes you shit real solid turds.
It all starts with one drop of blood.
A hand to the chest, a hand on the rail, my hand on his elbow,
Wondering if I could possibly lift him if he fell,
Six feet tall and he weighs less than I do
I whose sneeze barely missed my computer screen.
I sit as numbers float by, as words sink in,
Wondering what the blood means, and
How to tell the difference.THIS SCRIPT IS COPYRIGHTED MATERIAL AND MAY NOT BE DOWNLOADED, TRANSMITTED, PRINTED OR PERFORMED WITHOUT THE EXPRESS PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR