Ally Malinenko- Three Poems

10 Years Later

In the restaurant that evening

after spending the morning

meeting

my new cancer doctor

with her heavy accent

and her assurance that

everything would be fine

even after

I started to cry

In the restaurant that evening

I picked up a glass of wine

and thought about the champagne

we had ten years earlier

just hours after

the reverend had us join hands

and promise

in sickness

and in health

In the restaurant I held that glass high

and clinked yours and

looked you in the eye

and said

“Here’s to our worse”

Allyson Stop It

I’ve graduated from just the regular mammo

to a sonogram because the doctor isn’t sure

and it’s been six months since the cancer diagnosis

and not being sure isn’t an option

as I lay back on this table

with the low lights

and they spread the cold jelly across my

other breast

the healthy one

the one that I pray hasn’t also gone bad on me

because I only finished radiation six weeks ago

and I’m going to be on drugs for the rest of my life

my ovaries shut down

and I can’t help but think of a dark empty room

as she starts running the wand over me,

and the clicking and clicking

in the same spot

which is just what happened last June

when that hurricane appeared inside me

and I feel it right there,

the stairs that I started descending back in June

go in only one direction and it is down

and they will never stop

and I squeeze my eyes shut and try to think

about anything but diseased cells

and how this is starting all over again

my life stuck on this endless cycle

that will spiral down to an early death

before the nurse says

Allyson

you need to calm down

I can’t do this unless you stop,

Allyson

do you hear me,

Allyson you need to calm down,

Allyson

Allyson

Allyson stop it. Stop crying.

 And Yet

there are still moments like this

where I am utterly still

and I can feel my hands moving in sync

with my mind

the way they were supposed to move.

Together.

Not like lighting followed by thunder.

Not separate.

Not like double vision,

a drunk missing the keyhole

the way I feel like my body

is no longer mine

but instead

the enemy

but not today

as I lift

the ice cream cone

you bought me

to my lips

and all of Manhattan

raises in one voice to

sing your praise, my love.