After they scanned your skull,
I took you home, and I bathed you.

I poured cupfuls of hot water over your hair.
You barely moved, but the water churned,
turned murky with suds and bubbles:
small squall waves crashed on your thighs.

I scrubbed your scalp with my fingertips,
explored the contours of your cranium,
the tiny bumps I’ve never seen, but will.

I thought of the map of your brain
the oncologist placed on the backlight,
of the white mass he touched his finger to,
knowing, even before he spoke a word,
what it said:

Here There Be Monsters.

This poem was originally published under the pen name Gabriel Gadfly.
Your support makes poetry like this possible. Become a Patron today and unlock exclusive Patron-only poetry and other perks!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *