Could Be Cancer
Futile attempt to make eye contact
The man in the white coat looms over me in the ultrasound room
Doctor, what do you think?
A plea, a question, a whisper
In a voice that was not mine but emanated from me
He spoke into his armpit
Could be cancer
He uttered expressionless
As if he said could be cloudy with a chance of rain
Words like water droplets remain stagnant in the air we both shared
Discarding the hospital gown
I escape
Only
To later learn
Escaping was impossible
