Day Of The Results

Iora Dawes, Medical Social Worker



Nothing much has changed:


dawn arrives at the specified time,

the cat leaps at a butterfly and misses,

a fox ambles down the middle of the road,


except... everything has changed:


I sit in a room with no view

where thousands have sat before,

heavy with the wait of days

and nights of not knowing,

hearing the surgeon explain histology

that brooks no nuance,

that shall have dominion

in a voice tempered with a kind of love

for another human being;


watching his face, imagining the toll

of giving bad news, year after year

and when done, thanking,

not for the news

but for the manner of the giving.



Notes

I wrote this poem after having a cancer diagnosis.



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