During radiation nothing gives—
all the steel and glass and plaster.
The machine closer and closer
until it’s an inch from the absent breast—
Why can’t I say what happened?
I’m trying to—but I’ve been instructed
not to move, not even a millimeter,
or the radiation will reach my heart.
All I want is to hear my neighbor
call his cows home at dusk, to see him
touch their bellies, feel the fur
that swirls between their eyes.
