Biopsy

They poked me with a straw
and sucked out some adipocytes, five bulbous bubbles.

I told the nurse my mom died from it
so she held me while she cried,
weeping for the theoretical death of her own mother.

I do not cry.
 
Drains

Four transparent hand grenades dangle from my bodice.

Bloodshed,
1,300 milliliters worth sucked from my side.

These bombs are just leeches
sucking my fluids with surgical straws so I do not detonate.
 
Spirometer

Blowing a blue bronchi with an incentive: inflating the piston.

The throat’s vacuum sucks
the air out my respiratory balloon and a string
attached to mother’s hand

And now I understand her decaying moans washed ashore from intercostal canals
after the mass broke the vessel,
a boat adorned with aspirating diamonds.

Gina Tron
Latest posts by Gina Tron (see all)