Snapshot of a Lump

I imagine Nice and topless beaches,

women smoking and reading novels in the sun.

I pretend I am comfortable undressing

in front of men who go home to their wives,

in front of women who have seen

twenty pairs of breasts today,

in front of silent ghosts who walked

through these same doors before me,

who hoped doctors would find it soon enough,

that surgery, pills and chemo could save them.

Today, they target my lump

with a small round sticker, a metal capsule

embedded beneath clear plastic.

I am asked to wash off my deodorant,

wrap a lead apron around my waist,

pose for the nurse, for the white walls-

one arm resting on the mammogram machine,

that "come hither" look in my eyes.

This is my first time being photographed topless.

I tell the nurse, Will I be the centerfold

or just another playmate?

My breast is pressed flat - a torpedo,

a pyramid, a triangle, a rocket on this altar;

this can't be good for anyone.

Finally, the nurse, winded

from fumbling, smiles,

says, "Don't breathe or move."

A flash and my breast is free,

but only for a moment.

In the waiting room, I sit between magazines,

an article on Venice,

health charts, people in white.

I pretend I am comfortable watching

other women escorted off to a side room,

where results are given with condolences.

I imagine leaving here

with negative results and returned lives.

I imagine future trips to France,

to novels I will write and days spent

beneath a blue and white sun umbrella,

waves washing against the shore like promises.

~ Kelli Russell Agodon

________________________________________________

My cancer scare changed my life. I'm grateful for every new, healthy day I have. It has helped me prioritize my life. ~ Olivia Newton-John

Snapshot of a Lump

I imagine Nice and topless beaches,

women smoking and reading novels in the sun.

I pretend I am comfortable undressing

in front of men who go home to their wives,

in front of women who have seen

twenty pairs of breasts today,

in front of silent ghosts who walked

through these same doors before me,

who hoped doctors would find it soon enough,

that surgery, pills and chemo could save them.

Today, they target my lump

with a small round sticker, a metal capsule

embedded beneath clear plastic.

I am asked to wash off my deodorant,

wrap a lead apron around my waist,

pose for the nurse, for the white walls-

one arm resting on the mammogram machine,

that "come hither" look in my eyes.

This is my first time being photographed topless.

I tell the nurse, Will I be the centerfold

or just another playmate?

My breast is pressed flat - a torpedo,

a pyramid, a triangle, a rocket on this altar;

this can't be good for anyone.

Finally, the nurse, winded

from fumbling, smiles,

says, "Don't breathe or move."

A flash and my breast is free,

but only for a moment.

In the waiting room, I sit between magazines,

an article on Venice,

health charts, people in white.

I pretend I am comfortable watching

other women escorted off to a side room,

where results are given with condolences.

I imagine leaving here

with negative results and returned lives.

I imagine future trips to France,

to novels I will write and days spent

beneath a blue and white sun umbrella,

waves washing against the shore like promises.

~ Kelli Russell Agodon

________________________________________________

My cancer scare changed my life. I'm grateful for every new, healthy day I have. It has helped me prioritize my life. ~ Olivia Newton-John

A Mermaid Questions God

Photo credit: pedrojperez from morguefile.com

As a girl, she hated the grain of anything

on her fins. Now she is part fire ant, part centipede.

Where dunes stretch into pathways, arteries appear.

Her blood pressure is temperature plus wind speed.

Where religion is a thousand miles of coastline,

she is familiar with moon size, with tide changes.

She wears the cream of waves like a vestment,

knows undertow is imaginary, not something to pray to.

Now her questions involve fairytales, begin

in a garden and lead to hands painted on a chapel's ceiling.

She wants to hold the ribbon grass, the shadow of angels

across the shore. She steals a Bible from the Seashore Inn;

she will trust it only if it floats.

~ Kelli Russell Agodon

A Mermaid Questions God

Photo credit: pedrojperez from morguefile.com

As a girl, she hated the grain of anything

on her fins. Now she is part fire ant, part centipede.

Where dunes stretch into pathways, arteries appear.

Her blood pressure is temperature plus wind speed.

Where religion is a thousand miles of coastline,

she is familiar with moon size, with tide changes.

She wears the cream of waves like a vestment,

knows undertow is imaginary, not something to pray to.

Now her questions involve fairytales, begin

in a garden and lead to hands painted on a chapel's ceiling.

She wants to hold the ribbon grass, the shadow of angels

across the shore. She steals a Bible from the Seashore Inn;

she will trust it only if it floats.

~ Kelli Russell Agodon