Honorable Mention, Samuel Washington Allen Prize, selected by Charles Coe
i.
the imaging equipment: crisp white
like it was just unboxed, the tray
extending tongue-like to ingest me
the object of rumination overlaid with a blanket
nested with music-tuned headphones, skull braced
the only turning, only sliding from side to side
will be my water molecules attracted
by the spinning magnet of Olympian strength
resonating protons of hydrogen
discharging waves of energy in a temporary loss of attraction,
as Zeus remembering his wife,
creating like heat from shortwave infrared
dawn and crepuscule from visible light,
soft-tissue image slices from radio
clear enough to diagram lobes and ganglia
clues to our concern, whether a surgeon’s hand might set me free
or medication remain my governance
I close my eyes in the mouth of darkness to listen
ii.
the machine’s whirrs surround me like a mobile
phone set on an empty table and vibrating with an alert
a persistent caller – hollow, echoing buzz
last weekend at my parents’, they updated me
on squirrels in the attic, a new dentist in town
iii.
mechanical white noise gnaws
like old televisions, like out-of-range radios
a metronome interjects up-tempo ticking
the technician permitted my silver ring that pulses in time
birds migrate by the magnetic field of Earth
the strength of 15,000 Earths spins around me
succeeds in drawing my ring, shuddering
as though it could grow wings to fly
did I ever work with metal? could I have it in my eyes?
my ringed hand rests on my abdomen
lightly levitates above no secreted metal IUD
loosely grips a corded call button
turkey-baster shaped and sized and goose-egg smooth
iv.
a moment of machine silence
orchestra music of a nameless composer crescendos to
violinists playing pianissimo over-
whelmed by a 1980s videogame holding steady fire
pew pew pew against invading space creatures
when last I spoke with my brother
he apologized he’d been absorbed still
his queries were distracted
focused on another target
so I responded
with abridgment
until he said
can I call you back?
v.
a crank commences and cars drive
over a loose metal expansion joint
of a bridge I lie beneath
insensitive wheels of drivers pass thoughtlessly
effortlessly overhead the grumble
of traffic is lost
I used to drive, to own a car, but my doctors
required me to surrender
my keys for the so-called safety of the sidewalk
though using the legs I was born with is a way
America classifies the forsaken
and will never let you forget
to drive is a privilege not a right
in this land of winners and losers
who must live out their fate as though Americans still call ourselves
saints and Increase Mather yet preaches
about mankind’s eternal predestination by God
our lives a sign we are one of the elect saved
from hellfire or instead are one
of the unredeemable I
shuttle between foot and bus and trains that heave
like horseshoe crabs in the city that invented the subway
caught in a web of buildings and highways unable
to reach the forests or anything beyond
where my body can carry me and I feel
again like a child
waiting patiently
for an adult to assist me
or again to grow up
to be set free
vi.
a whirr with a tapping wooden mallet
earlier I received an intravenous connection for later fluid injection
image contrast, to distinguish the scarred or hardened or potential
a pineal cyst added to the scan request
like a side of fries
which arm? I exposed my inner left elbow bright blue vein
the nurse assessed with taps of two gloved fingers
to emphasize the blue, I made a fist
alcohol-scented air the familiar chill of rough, damp cotton
skin prepared for the nurse’s Sharp pinch my breath
matched her sinking needle
eyes on my right hand
gripping the armrest deep
breath said the nurse reassessing
tapping the buried needle the vein wouldn’t accept
tap, tap, wouldn’t accept next the right arm
tap, tap, tap, fist, chill, pinch, breath, stick, acceptance
the pinpoint of blood on my left arm dried
vii.
sliding from the tunnel, the lights are overbright, unfriendly
orchestra music muffles the technician
nurse saying it’s time
to add the contrasting fluid to the IV; it may feel cold
I feel nothing
viii.
in the dark, over the noise and the music
the technician’s voice asks how I’m doing
I have an aunt, not seen in years though I recall her laughter
my mother, telling me of her inoperable tumor, said
maybe you can send a card
it has always seemed easier
to speak of other problems, of distant
people nearly hypothetical, beyond my near-
routine hospital visits and tests, as though my faulty health reflects
a faulty character that we don’t talk about anymore
choosing to pass lightly over problems made airy and inconsequential
I have learned to make myself insubstantial
an absence like the dead
I tell the technician I’m doing fine
because isolated in this chamber the iron words
of what ails me can’t fly free to inconvenience
their substance reproduced by mathematical rendering
molecules saying I do exist here
is what I have
gained and have lost
and must give voice to
the only way is to impart it into air
ix.
the clunking slows like there’s traffic ahead
or a wind-up toy running down and I glide
into the light relinquish the turkey baster
a nurse tells me she can take the IV as though I would keep it
carefully pulls tape from my skin presses cotton to puncture
slips steel from layers of tunica tissue bandages the absorbent bundle
at a borrowed locker, coins return to pockets, arms to sleeves, bag to shoulder,
watch to wrist declares the time and I consider the remaining
hours my unhealed wounds and the weight
of the groceries I can’t carry this afternoon
outdoors, the day returns
putting one gravel-crunching foot before the other
I am guided onward by my inner north
through the waves of light, heat, sound
the silver of rain in the sky ebony on pavement
birdsong from branches
even if their destinations
are not yet achieved
the birds sing withal
of arrival
Sarah Hill
Sarah L. Hill was born and raised in New Hampshire. Her recent poetry has appeared in Jellyfish Whispers, Oddball Magazine, and the chapbook Music for Myotises from Hawk & Whippoorwill. She currently lives in Arlington, MA.