The Medic

I’ve been pretty swamped with school the last few days and I haven’t been on top of writing. I still want to write on each of the prompts, but they may be a bit out of order now as I try to catch up again. The following is Day 7’s prompt, a poem structured in the form of a Tritina.


A twitch begins silently in her toes and rises

from her legs up to the tips of her fingers. Her mind and body

are detained by thoughts of trenches, blood


and violence. Images of her hands grasping forceps, soaked in blood

pass through her thoughts. She feels her heart rise,

then fall with every passing beat. She sees the body


sprawled across the dirt and finds features of her own body.

She realizes they are indistinguishable, and the blood

begins to vanish leaving clean, stitched flesh. She rises


and her spirit rises with her. The twitch leaves her body, the blood disappears from her hands.

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