Mammogram Sampler

She apologizes as she moves
my breast into a position where
it ought not to go.

I hold my breath as instructed,
cheating just a little but hoping I
don’t have to do this again.

I’m silent but inwardly I’m praying gratitude.
It’s a privilege to have access to this technology
and the healthcare to provide it.

She says I’ll get the results before I leave
and that’s another thing to be grateful for—
no need to wait for that phone call. THE phone call.

Fear rises in the shallow breaths
I’m not supposed to take as I
try not to think of my own mortality.

I look at a spot on the wall
as I hold my breath yet again.
Why don’t they put up posters to distract?

Would I go for reconstruction?
Will I even survive? I must
stop thinking about it.

Their lobby has a quilt as its décor.
It’s stapled to a drapery rod.
Stapled, mind you.

Quilters everywhere would cringe.
What’s intended to celebrate women
lacks regard for the artist’s craft.

The machine makes its images.
And so I stand, on tiptoes,
no longer looking for solace.

I, too, am strong enough
to hold my own seams together
and that’s worth celebrating.

Maryanne Frederick splits her writing time between her Phoenix, Arizona home and a mountain cabin in Northern Arizona. She believes everything has a story to tell but it’s what we notice that helps to grow us. Looking for those lessons inspires her writing. Publishing credits include: True Chili, Deluge Literary and Arts Journal, Not Very Quiet Journal, Helen Literary Magazine, The Scene and Heard Journal, The Human Touch Journal, The Poet’s Haven, and Spillwords Press among others. Maryanne’s bachelor’s degree is from the University of Illinois and her master’s degree is from Arizona State University. Visit with Maryanne at www.maryannefrederick.com or on Twitter: https://twitter.com/MAFAuthor