Breastcapade
(1)
Don’t touch me
*
But please, touch me
*
For years now, I have been afraid of
and preventing people from
touching me
not only for purposes of social distancing
but due to trauma
and the learned belief
that I will have to somehow pay
for every touch I am given
*
The bubble around me is popped
the day I go in for my mammogram
and it is the most I have been touched
all year:
the technician’s touch is light
and barely there
lifting and placing
put your hand here
turn this way
some pressure now
skin, hands, breasts
neither of us locking eyes
business as usual
she gently speaking
warm to the touch
as the clear plastic pushes down
and I inhale with a deep breath
breaking the trance
*
then it’s done
and I’m standing alone
and naked
pulling over my cover
to be sheathed again
closed up
to not be touched
and ready to face the cold
indifferent world
that faces me
each day
*
(2)
And when the mammogram
finds a shadow
that wasn’t there during last year’s biopsy
an ultrasound is ordered
*
This time, the touch
is not so gentle
*
As the pressure radiates
around and out
again and again
I journey with my mind
to the river with the cottonwood
and the willow and the prairie
and start naming grasses
*
there’s my favorite side oats grama
little bluestem with the tufts
and turkeyfoot big bluestem
indiangrass the spread paintbrush
and buffalo the carpet
I’m laying across
*
and on and on
until finally
the pressing and pulling
tugging and touching stop
*
My shroud is replaced
My shield goes back up
and I am left alone to wait to discover
if the shadow is a foe to fight
*
then released to the
untouchable
distant world
masked
beyond the opening
glass doors.
*
1–28–22
Tansy Julie Soaring Eagle Paschold
