Sliced Open

Amy Reichbach is back on the blog with a poem she wrote. It was inspired by Alicia Ostriker. 

1076990_10151539621431538_1290151235_oSpooned it off and away,
nipple and all this time,
last time the odds said
the articles said
the surgeon said
Lumpectomy
the breast so big anyway
we could go in again
and no one would know.

Until
day of surgery mammogram
a technicality
until someone
called over
someone else
and they found more
we’ll try anyway
with one site, maybe two
cut away those cells
layer upon layer
learn how many more
lay in wait.

The call the next week:
good news and bad
two nodes
the spread contained:
I can breathe
those cells have not
seeped through blood
to capture all of me.
Probably.

But those spots
the ones the first mammogram missed
meant losing the breast
I’d held her to
for more than two years.

Such a hard start
we fought, my daughter and I
I believed mothering
meant feeding by breast,
only by breast
and mine certainly should work
given their ample size
passing an early test of motherhood,
I thought love
protected the breast.

Maybe it was brought on
by end of love
cells bursting
through anger, betrayal, shock
after fourteen years, an affair
end of love
why had I picked you
to cut me, sliced open
you didn’t mince words
when you left.

I had already become a statistic
one more of those who would divorce
following a seven year itch
you needed to scratch
within a decade of gaining the right
to marry.

In our home now
my daughter
notices the noises
people in and out
trying to cover over
fill in
the imprint of my wife
while in her other home
she notes the quiet
her other mother,
her young lover
and their demons
her only company.

And so I grade papers,
I listen to wind,
the empty echoes
and try not to
get stuck in the spaces.
Divorce. Cancer.
You never think it will happen to you,
what happens every day to other women.

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