Mammogram

Teri Bordenave, MHSA

Summer 2010 - Volume 14 Number 2

I.

Good luck she said as

I left the room, clothes in one

hand, borrowed garment clutched in

the other, protectively, against

my left breast.

My left breast—the one over my heart.

My left breast—the one she just flattened and x-rayed in the darkened room.

My left breast—the one they took another look at today.

My left breast—one of the two that fed my daughter’s life.

My left breast—the one that wears your favorite nipple.

My left breast—the one I now cradle, instinctively, in my sleep.

II.

It was a voice I didn’t recognize,

the one in the message on my phone.

"I’m sure you’ve heard by now," it said,

"we found some abnormalities

in your mammogram." Turned out to be

Tanika, film librarian at the diagnostic center

looking to add more x-rays to her collection.

Mine. "So we can compare," her voice

trailed off as my ears started to close up,

my whole head fell into a large pool

of murky pond water, body following, as I

tried to remember which way was up.

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