A poem on kidney cancer survivorship and the annual scan
Once a year,
I return to two quiet organs
I once carried without thought,
working faithfully in the dark,
asking for nothing,
until one day they asked to be seen.
Cysts.
Small moons of fluid,
bubbles scattered like careless stars
throughout the geography of me.
Harmless, they said.
Mostly.
Until one was not.
That year,
a word entered my body:
cancer.
A word that knows how to make itself at home
in every corner of thought.
A specialist explained
how light and force could be aimed,
how the invader could …
