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like prison without
the comfort of bars.
Ugly in orange,
the waiting room
made me want to
throw up. So I did.
A dozen women
gave sympathetic
looks as I returned
from the bathroom.
One by one, they
disappeared as a
stern woman in white
called their names.
Chase held my hand
as we watched them
reappear, one by
one, ashen as ghosts.
A procession of
wraiths, that’s what
it was. And I was in
the back of the line.
I rocked against the
hard plastic chair.
Finally the woman
called, “Bree Wagner.”
Chase flinched, then
whispered in my ear:
I prefer the sound
