Just a Letter and a Sign

The clipboard pressed against my knee,

a fresh, clean sheet, all white and stark.

My name, my date, then, there for me

to see, a small, indelible mark:

'Blood Type: O Negative.'

Just those few characters, precise and bold.

No choice in what they signify,

a story in a code, forever told.

It's just a label, clinical and cool,

yet in that letter, that sharp little line,

a certain kind of ancient, stubborn rule.

A deep, unasked-for, permanent design.

My own deep self, reduced to this,

a fact that no one can dismiss.