They lead her away, down the hall,
holding her arms, gently now.
Faces turn away,
they know where she’s going.
The nurses’ shiny black shoes
squeal on the tiles.
She lets them lie her down on the bed,
feels a pinch in her arm, the needle sliding in.
She tries to hold his tiny fingers
before she goes.
She doesn’t know how long
she’ll be gone this time.
The doctor nods from the door,
glad she’s taking treatment well,
“she’ll be herself when she wakes”.