Doctor's offices are not conducive to dreaming -
or hoping - the brown brick and clorox seem to block the angels out.
To know what Mengele's twins must have felt like,
Like a patient in front of medical students
"See here, the top vertebrae is rotated to the left,
that's the kyphosis, and observe the scars on her elbow,
classic cigarette paper scars."
Patients in blue paper gowns do not have names
They - I - have histories and abnormalities
But not names, not faces
Just bones and skin and muscles,
Only known for their anomalies.
Hands that bounce giggling babies
Are juvenile carpal tunnel.
Skin that was canvas for washable markers
Is unusually stretchy,
And a heart that loved someones and somethings
Is slowly expanding.
Patients do not have names.
I do not have a name.
I do have a name.
My name is Claire.
But I am a patient,
So I do not have a name.