The Line by Helen Freeman

Every month – tears.
I’m late again. Hurtling up, tingling,
certain. Then boom,

a stained fall.
Cobalt dye injected,
gelid plastic intrudes.  More likely
to win the lottery, doctors say.
I dig deep for the railroad switch,
Rio streets, Chinese orphanages,
all accounts cross-checked, doors and windows
cranked open for scrutiny. Then this,

this fluttering,
this clear fuchsia line.

Helen Freeman published a collection of poems, Broken, in the recovery time following a severe road traffic accident in Oman. Since then she has completed several online poetry courses including ModPo and the Poetry School. A Third Culture Kid brought up in Kenya, she now lives in both Edinburgh and Riyadh.