In the waiting room before the scan

Twelve women sit together – far apart

Each a story told of heart in hand

In matching pink gowns – holding hand to heart

–

Everyone carries a growing fear

Of slash, poison and subsequent burn

The level of anxiety’s grown clear

Only results will make the tables turn

–

Facing the machine, we bear our chest

Bodies torqued to places hard to grasp

It hurts     …    so we hold our breath

Waiting for eternity to pass

–

Wretched as it is to have breast cancer

With grit, we each turn to face the doctors answer

.

.

.

MMN