Poetry by Stacey Z. Lawrence
Her probe rolls over my breasts.
Young woman, white coat,
short blond hair like Sandy Duncan, studies a screen.
Shivering I squirm, brumal metal bed
as her wand shifts left, deep within my pit, her countenance
reveals a flash of pity as
she shoves hair behind her ear. rubs
my shoulder, like a child,
orders me to contort my arm
high above my head, gel
warms my chest, like my grandmother’s Camphor oil,
more computer clicks,
the doctor has arrived.
Mass, tumor, growth,
small, stage, spread
Arrows, I cannot avoid, zinging
just like they did at my children’s father,
just sixteen months ago,
he is dead.
Delivered into a small room, pink robed,
I sit alone
chair in a corner, little Jack Horner,
poster of a smiling woman tacked to
a beige wall,
fiddle with bracelets, twirl the curls
of my hair, blow my nose,
the clock pounds.
A nurse struts in, takes
my temperature, checks my
blood pressure, tells me I have Cancer.
So I trade my old tits in for new ones,
soft avocados into
About the Poet
Stacey Z Lawrence teaches Poetry and Creative Writing to high school students in New Jersey. Her poems have appeared in Big Windows Review, Chaleur Magazine, Vita Brevis, Dream Noir and others. She was short-listed for the 2019 Fish Poetry Prize.