Between five stars and none

More "adventures" in the emergency department.

Part of a collage (paper/watercolor).

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1.
When you wake up and feel blood dripping—
can almost hear the drops hitting the sheets—

when you stand up and pull back the covers
to see how far the puddles spread—

when you wonder if this is just more blood
or the bad kind that leads to death—

when your nurse friends tell you to go be seen
and your husband debates which clinic is better—

you pack your backpack in a daze
either from loss or just disbelief 
that you’re bleeding, bleeding, bleeding again.

2.
The ultrasound tech moves the wand across
my belly, bracketed by white rags. He keeps
taking pictures, measuring sounds, zooming in.

When I crane my neck to see a little more,
the screen tilts away: It’s a secret, you can’t see it.
But it’s the middle of my own body, I want to say.

Then I realize it’s just a quirk of the machine—
it turns when he types, the pressure
of his clicking fingers pushing the screen.

3.
He brings a chaperone into the room, a woman
named Precious, who sits near me. I want her 
to hold my hand, to tell me it’s okay

but this is checking for an IUD gone rogue
not the heartbeat of an unexpected child.
He asks me to insert the wand myself, to give me
more privacy under the sheet. What a world.

4.
While he probes, I think about the book of poetry
I just finished reading in the waiting room, about
my rating on Goodreads, my desire to give 
five stars to anyone brave enough to write poems
but also maybe it should have been one star less?
I didn’t love it as much as some books.

5.
When I am dressed again, when I have placed
the handful of white rags into “Soiled Linen”—

when I have gathered my hair back into its careful bun—
I go to Goodreads and try to change my review.

I toggle between five stars and none. No in-between.
So I let the five remain. And wait to go home.