Carole Stone
Do you have an appetite? No.
Are you anxious? Yes.
Irritable? Yes.
I hand in the questionnaire.
Instantly, a woman calls my name.
“You know we have counseling,”
she says cheerily. I nod.
“And a writing group.
Would you like to join?”
I imagine an unsharpened pencil,
and a blank page,
tell her, no. Is this denial?
“Nothing to say,” I tell her,
looking into her stranger’s eyes.
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