The pink half-gown is tied wrong.
I can’t figure out the strings.
My nipples are hard in the
fluorescent waiting room.
ate only bites but
always well: warm boysenberry pie,
bone broth matzoh ball soup
A BRIEF RESPITE FROM THE USUAL PERCEPTUAL DIVIDES: AFTER CHEMO I SKI THROUGH THE VERMONT WOODS IN ANOTHER CLIMATE CHANGE STORM
Dear little breast, you were badgered and harassed by needles and nuclear medicine, almost ready to fall off in shame when you only carried yourself with dignity in the … Continue reading
this time a slow- growing rarity tracing delicate tendrils through kidney and liver, the lung’s sturdy wall, artery somewhere I can’t remember, though twice I’ve been told. How the mind … Continue reading
The night of her diagnosis I dreamed her white spiral like a small galaxy that rose away from the hospital gurney and turned back only once. With a face like … Continue reading