Radiology

Belly-down on the x-ray bed, chin on a towel in the little trough,
head strapped into the hub of a great wheel. Hold still.
Thirty-two slices of info about a two-inch slab inside my face.

Lying there. Willing the sensors to read bright, uninvaded bone,
willing bone to resist invasion. As if that helped.

Who doesn't know I love them? Are we not one flesh?
Can't you feel me loving you now? Yeah,
the signal breaks up here too,
but love survives silence, music erupts again from the speakers.

Will and testament. The daughters get almost everything.
Everyone gets something. Some things get lost. We know that.

No other place to go, no other thing to be.

The stark films are ambiguous. Something to cut out but not
clearly cancer. And the top of consciousness keeps spinning,
the tiny point of spin and the great terrain it traverses.

I just want to say, Feel me loving you here.