Daily Poetry by Jess Knight

As she took some blood
from my plump vein
in my right arm.

I showed her a photo
on my phone.
Of the straight spine
that is not mine.

At least not mine
that is inside me
all the time.

This one has its own stand.
It sits on my desk.
31 inches tall!

‘It was a birthday present.’
I explain.
As the pathologist
presses a cotton bud
onto the tiny wound.

That the needle made
when sliding into
my vein.