Auto-Immune by Destiny O. Birdsong

"The white-coated vampire states it as fact: syringes

rinse the surgeries away. She’s got a house to feed,

where tiny mouths drool fluid like primed syringes.

I’m not dying yet, but she wants to be sure.

She asks me to deliver a ransom of syringes."

—from “Auto-Immune” by Destiny O. Birdsong from Negotiations

The syringes under my own bathroom sink fill with understanding, the bruises along my arms, legs, stomach, and butt feel tender-pressed with each word in this poem. When you find yourself standing, shaking in someone else’s poem, you know they’ve done something truly incredible.