Tracy Royce
Hard Stick
You flinched, the nurse says, his mouth puckering as he withdraws the needle. Your vein moved. At this point, I’ve heard it all: I need to drink more water before getting my blood drawn, I have bad veins, and of course, the classic: You’re a hard stick.
The day of the surgery they will take everything: my uterus, cervix, ovaries, and of course, the cancer. But they still can’t get the damn needle in. Only after the third clinician arrives with a syringe and a modicum of skill, only then will I finally get some relief.
the phlebotomist calls me honey
I have no trouble
making a fist
About the Author
Tracy Royce’s poetry has appeared in bottle rockets, Evening Street Review, Frogpond, Modern Haiku, and elsewhere. She lives in Southern California, where she enjoys hiking and observing wildlife in the region’s many mountains, playing board games, and wrangling her adorably mischievous rabbit.