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.
