Type O

The form had a box I couldn't check.

I sat on the crinkling paper of the exam table

trying to remember the letters in my veins.

The nurse had a grip like a vice,

tapping the crook of my elbow

until a blue line finally surfaced.

I watched the needle go in,

and then the dark red bloom in the glass—

thick, quiet, and completely anonymous.

It looks the same as anyone else's

until you try to put it back.