top of page

​Thursday Night with my Daughter in the Emergency Room

I don't know our religious affiliation
when she ate lunch
her height, if she pooped yesterday
what she weighs. 

I don't tell we don't always eat
regular meals
we microwave and graze.

I know she ate chips and salsa at 4
why her socks don't match.

She doesn't know what a bowel movement is, or
how to catch her pee.

The doctor knows appendicitis is different
in kids.
Not always middle to right, but
sometimes the left side too.

She knows now that an IV stays in her

that it can be scary here
and the man down the hall
is legless
yelling diddle diddle dee.

Blood, liver & heart
any part of me to her
I'd offer up.

Discharge papers take awhile.

Until we leave
we remain

2 peas
perfectly out of place.



-- [first published in Sow's Ear Poetry Review]

bottom of page