exhausted / all questions
researched/ every article
i’m a librarian i should know everything
i clasp my prayers in my hands
step by step holding the guardrails
i pray myself a calm decision
( b r e a t h e) “lumpectomy”
before my final goodbyes/ I pull down my shirt/ in the parking lot
i show my beautifully developed round soft breasts to my lover
“take the picture, you’ll never see them like this again”
he laughs…. “only you”
yes, only me
walks in under the knife
with my life
in God’s hands
I never said a word to my mother
i told my father, my daughter and my brother
who sent for me to spend time with him in California
every bump in the road he announced like a destination
and I would hold onto what was left of my breast
we cracked up laughing
laugh
you have to laugh you have to laugh
because if you cry
you’ll never be able to stop
one month later/ prognosis/ aggressive cancer still there
i swear
i cld die with two breasts or live with one
i resign
“mastectomy”/total removal of tissue and lymph nodes
i can barely reach to answer the phone
stiffff arm, can’t wipe my own ass
doc says crawl your arm up the wall each day…until you reach the top
otherwise you’ll get frozen arm
thank God for a cancer I didn’t die from
he comes/ my lover
to the hospital
with red silk roses
a bundle of them….
i’m familiar with
butterscotch sunflowers
that decorate every home in Sicily
vineyards of them, neat rows like
grade school rulers dancing
swaying their arms toward the evening sun
african Voices
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