\nand my mom murmurs It will be all right<\/em>;<\/p>\n
the world is no larger or smaller than this:
\nthese apple-scented bubbles, this stream of warm water<\/p>\n
our hope, this scar, these hands.<\/p>\n
Wilmington, NC<\/h2>\n
<\/p>\n
Fleeing beeps and whorls, passing minutes till sunrise,
\nI snuck out of the hospital to smoke on the granite steps,<\/p>\n
the night damp, giant moon hanging, a tin ornament
\nbehind magnolias. Grateful reprieve from vinyl chair,<\/p>\n
from curling on the laminate arm, waking to the pulse ox alarm,
\nnurse rounds, yawning chasm of hours, mom squirming on her back,<\/p>\n
more infant than parent, everything unspooling.<\/p>\n
I keep coming back to this night. The yellow of the moon.
\nBitter coffee in a styrofoam cup. Something languid in the air,<\/p>\n
Spanish moss like swaying kelp. Horrible yes, but also
\noddly open, a starfish unfurling arms, anemone undulating.<\/p>\n
brown shirt<\/h2>\n
<\/p>\n
Carolina August in our white mini-van, pleather sticking to my thighs, air thick
\nwith salt and humidity, mom proposed a trip to the thrift stores off island.<\/p>\n
As a kid I saved all my change for these adventures, lured
\nby hand-made signs on summer Saturdays.\u00a0 We drove, windows down,<\/p>\n
air conditioner on, over the floating bridge, roads glinting with heat.
\nI babbled of my dog eating banisters, sofas, doors.\u00a0 Mom said her friend Pam<\/p>\n
had a mastectomy, that there were special swimsuits now, from LL Bean I think,
\nwith space for a prosthesis, so no one would know.\u00a0 I must have said, Wow,<\/i><\/p>\n
what will they think of next<\/i>, and let it drop.\u00a0 We hunted on: paperbacks with
\nyellowed pages, a lopsided dresser with peeling green paint.\u00a0 I fell in love<\/p>\n
with a short sleeved shirt in chocolate polyester, cheap guyabera meant
\nfor a guy clutching a sweating beer over a barbeque.\u00a0 She bought<\/p>\n
it for me for $1.25.\u00a0 Driving back, she said, Pam ordered one of those suits.\u00a0\u00a0<\/i>
\nIn navy blue.<\/i>\u00a0 It would be the next month before she told me of the lump,<\/p>\n
before surgery and chemo.\u00a0 I keep the shirt, which stinks
\nof sweat and summer and smoke, no matter how many times I wash it,<\/p>\n
pinches, a fiddler crab angered by my wading toe.\u00a0 This afternoon comes back still,
\nwhen everything changed and I didn\u2019t know, salt water swallowed by mistake<\/p>\n
when a wave knocks you down, stinging like a new sunburn.<\/p>\n
\n
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