To those of us who’ve sat

in rooms with random magazines

and clocks that run backwards

wondering how we ever came to be

on a plastic chair with tiny, invisible

question marks crawling all over our skin.

How long?  How bad?

What next?  Why me?

There is this small boy

running onto a hospital ward

brandishing a card covered in glitter

that he made himself and other connections

to home, to love, to knowing you are not alone in this.


This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s