I’ve been thinking a lot about transformation. My own. It is my chosen word of the new year. Past attempts at forming myself around a single word or focus have included balance, clarity, and inspiration. I’m not sure I have ever been successful, but I strove for what I needed at the time. This year, something inside of me wants to see great change, and I wonder if it won’t be the small changes that will end up making the biggest differences.

I hate needles. Not knitting or embroidery needles. The kind you stick into skin and veins, shoulders and buttocks. I must be afraid of them or of pain. Anticipation of blood tests, flu shots, or Novocain, coupled with the rub of a cotton ball and fumes of alcohol, causes the blood to drain from my head and I pass out. The medical term for my fainting is vasovagal syncope.

Poem & photo
by Vivian Bikulege