Phlebotomist
Dianne Silvestri ~
The corridors seethe with nocturnal predators,
their voices low.
My door latch coughs, a figure hisses,
I’ve come to draw blood,
wrenches my arm like a lamb shank,
rasps it with alcohol, plunges her spike,
pops one after another color-coded
rubber-stoppered vial into the sheath,
unplugs each loaded one to add
to the crimson log pile weighting my thigh,
steals more, it seems, than ample sample
of the provisional liquor of my life.
About the poet:
Dianne Silvestri worked as an academic dermatologist while raising her four children. Her medical practice was abruptly interrupted when she was diagnosed with acute myelogenous leukemia. "Chemotherapy and a stem-cell transplant have allowed me to engraft my poetry avocation as an encore career." Author of the chapbook Necessary Sentiments, she has had poems published in various journals, including The Healing Muse, American Journal of Nursing, The Worcester Review, Poetry South, The Main Street Rag, The Examined Life Journal and Families, Systems & Health.
About the poem:
"This poem grew out of the first forty-day hospital stay of my life-changing illness."
Poetry editors:
Johanna Shapiro and Judy Schaefer
Brilliant writing.
Helen Montague Foster
The haiku in today’s issue is also especially good.
I'll be curious to learn if other Pulse readers were as discomfited by this poem as I was, especially on this site.
I felt better after I read the "About Us" section and reflected: "Works published in Pulse—voices from the heart of medicine are selected by its editors in order to foster personal reflection and dialogue. Views and opinions expressed belong to the authors who wrote them. They do not necessarily reflect the views of the editors or Pulse's supporting or partnering organizations."
I concluded it's good to be reminded sometimes that even our 'safe places' are not always safe.
PS Dr. Silvestri, even if given ten years, I would be unable to paint such a vivid picture with only 73 words. ;-)