Barbara Costas-Biggs is the 2017 winner of the Split This Rock Abortion Rights Poetry Contest. Her work is forthcoming or has appeared recently in Moria, Jarfly, Dodging the Rain, Bird's Thumb, Calamus, District Lit, Literary Mama, Compose, and others. She also is a member the juried poetry series Women of Appalachia: Women Speak. She lives in Southern Ohio.
It's not that the room is cold
or that the radiology tech sings-songs to me
Now you can breathe
as the massive machine rotates and whirs
around my naked upper body.
I don't know that I can even name what it is
other than discomfort, worry.
Since my father's death from a cancer
that wormed its way to every molecule of his body
before it was found,
a cancer that required extensive testing
to find its origin,
I am swelled with the feeling I must be next.
But I have always been prone to hypochondria.
Above the machinations of medical devices
is Can't stop the feeling.
My hips want to move,
like when I drive over Sherer's Hollow:
car zigzagging, my body thrown
side to side in the driver's seat.
But this is a time for stillness.
She tells me that, the radiology tech
in a voice usually reserved for small
children and puppies: Don't move, don't move
Now you can breathe.