In the darkness of the doctor’s office
I stare at the screen:
one teratoma occupies my left ovary
while a new endometrioma
sits inside the right. These sister cysts
look like black misshapen marbles
swimming in clouded abyss, and I wince
as he pushes the probe
deeper inside me.
What if they grow hair & teeth & nails
like a baby that isn’t alive?
What if they go on doubling in size
until they asphyxiate the organs
that gave them life?
What if they multiply, feeding
on my blood as they gnaw at me
like rust?
I’m afraid of the body’s
dark matter. Afraid of being
rotten, damaged, wrong. Afraid I’ll regret
growing cysts instead of children.
Afraid of pain, surgery, scars. Afraid
I’ll faint right here on this medical table
with his wand still inside me. Afraid
that every man I’ve ever known
has somehow done this to me.
Afraid I did it to myself.
And how will I know
if I’m empty or full,
hollow or whole? Doctor, please…
whisper to me in the graceless dark,
promise I’m safe, then step back
in awe, point at the screen,
and say, “Beautiful, all of it.”
Amy Dupcak’s poetry has appeared in Pangyrus, Passengers, The Night Heron Barks, American Writers Review, The Blue Mountain Review, Alternative Field’s ‘In Isolation’ anthology, and forthcoming in Wild Roof. She published a story collection called Dust; co-edited an anthology of prose and poetry called Words After Dark; and published fiction and creative nonfiction in Vol. 1 Brooklyn, Sonora Review, Phoebe, and elsewhere. She leads a variety of workshops across genres for adolescents, teens, and adults, and she is currently Editor-in-Chief of Cagibi.