Still Life with Bone Scan
She is smaller than
before.
Tomorrow
she’ll be smaller still,
aging into herself,
erasing her self.
The doctor’s
at the door,
in his hands, an analog
of her.
It’s smaller still—
this negative image,
this paper doll—
her skull coyly tilted
to one side, defenseless,
her arms stretched wide.
Hiding, the tumor—
benign but not benevolent—
in what he called
“a symbiotic kinship
with the brain.”
How far removed, this
milky miniature, this flattened
pattern of a mother?
How far removed
from she who strode
through rooms in
Sicilian joy or aggravation,
who posed on the DeSoto’s hood—
perfectly manicured and coiffed—
an elegant arm draped
over my father’s shoulder,
smiling at the camera?
Sorrowful mother,
small amid the chalky sheets,
(the wires translating
each heartbeat onto a screen,
yet another analog)
the fact of her life
as lines on a graph.
Deeply touching. Beautiful. And poignant, since we have a friend just beginning a journey that began with a bone scan. I had no idea you were a poet–but how could I not have known?
Thanks so much, Debby. I’m very sorry to hear about your friend.
So very beautiful Marci. Thinking of you,your mom
and making biscotti in your kitchen
Thanks very much, Michelle. I hope that you and your family had a wonderful Thanksgiving. I’m thinking of posting the biscotti recipe on the blog during the holidays.
Wow. You told me that your early writing was mostly poetry, and now I get it. Wow, do I get it! This is stunning… I am re-reading… mesmerized by this piece. Thank you.
Anne, I’m honored by your reaction to the poem. Thank you!
very touching–I loved it
Thanks very much, Bob! And thanks for reading!