Ultrasound with Bird
Reclining on a chair,
white paper crunches as I move.
On the ceiling a painting of trees,
leaves reaching towards blue sky.
The sonographer squeezes warm gel
out of a bottle and spreads it
onto my throat, my clavicle, under my ears.
There are an estimated 600 lymph nodes
in our body, 200 in the neck.
Lymph travels in a single direction,
through vessels and valves that act as gates.
Her hand suspended above me,
she snaps photos to collect in my file,
as impressionist strokes of black,
white and gray form on the screen.
My breathing slows in the stagnant air.
I’ll be back in a few, she says.
In the silence that ensues, I hover—
suspended among tree, sky, exam room—
as a bird pauses
on the branch above my head.
Recommended
Poetry | Jessica E. Pierce
I’m done watching shows where everyone is dying
I’m done watching shows where everyone is dying
Poetry | Rachel Becker
Fireworks
Fireworks
Poetry | George Kalamaras
Spoken Into
Spoken Into