Wynne MorrisonPhiladelphia, Pennsylvania, USA Poet’s statement This poem ponders how giving blood is an almost religious experience—connecting with others, giving a part of oneself, a sacrament or sacrifice in stations like the stages of the cross. Blood of my blood First station—awkward screeningquestions. Where have youlived? Who slept with?What other sins? Tattoos?Drugs? Dialysis?The inquisitor’s eyes…