Unlucky

In the place where
people in white coats
hustle
saving lives
mending broken bones
or souls.

Shh, the doctor said, this won’t hurt a bit.
Where wheelchairs aren’t laughed at
and babies can breathe clean air.
We’re just unlucky, your sister said.

No one knows what’s ahead of us.

Inside the white rooms
with the silent hearts
and the monitors that go
beep-beep-beep
if you’re lucky
and
beeeeeeeeep
if you’re not.

And now I hear the static you used to be.

I’m so sorry.
I guess not
everyone
hits the lottery.

I couldn’t save you.

by Vedika Sanga