They take pieces of us
Off the table
Cutting slices
Needles inserted
Like turkey breast
Our blood drips like gravy
Onto sharp blue sheets
We lie there
Unconscious and
Grateful
To be poked and prodded
Grateful that it hurts
To be alive
To walk again under
blue sky
Dalia Astalos is a food and culture writer in San Diego. She’s been a poet since her first poem was published in fifth grade.