The Pap
Fan whirring
sleepy eyes
wait.
Blue plastic gown
folded neatly into a "take one" pile,
so I do.
The speculum gleams
like so many surgical tools,
metal shined up
by the curves of thousands.
I want to touch the handle to feel them
hear their stories through the metal.
But I pull my hand away and turn to the table instead.
The coolness of metal stirrups
cradling socks.
How is it I forget each year
how cold they are.
He leans over and swabs
body screams
even as mind
limps toward calm.
The speculum never warms.
But the results are in--
cancer free
for another year
copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2012