The Monthly Ritual
Right arm raised,
languid wrist drooped in a Bob Fosse pose
belies my inner tension
I lean in close.
Rough, garden stained fingers probe
is that a lump or a new lesion?
The mirror allows no illusions
hands slide over matron’s belly, shiny scars
maps of babies swelling
Next I lift an empty, sagging breast
translucent globe
a […]
