by Len Kuntz
She says, “But I’m a bleeder.”
Her eyes are alarm clocks blinking.
Her knees bounce.
These places are so white and wide open.
The woman coming up to us
is not a nurse but her voice is soft.
She says they’re ready for my daughter now.
Walking down the white-walled hall I hear her
tell Amy not to worry, that there’s still time, that she made the right choice.
Amy lifts her rag doll head at that,
a thin smile parting open
turns to me and says over her shoulder,
“See Dad, I'm not a murderer after all.”