I don’t think I’m alone when I say that I went through several phases of emotional response after receiving my diagnosis. Yes, I experienced the expected reflex denial, then the self-blaming, followed by confusion, and then a gnawing sense of impatience to get on with it, but I also went through a time when I felt betrayed by my own body. I felt sure that somehow my body became aligned with the cancer, the enemy. It was during that time and immediately after surgery that this short poem began to take shape. I read this piece at a breast cancer art and poetry event, which, surprisingly, it didn’t seem to fit.
Mastectomy
The blade, a god
parting a sea of skin,
made a monster of my body.
Good and Evil
left their dead
across my chest –
pockets turned out,
boots stolen.
A swollen silence, settled
but disturbed.
The look of fear
in desert faces, pocked,
ossified and stretched
to the horizon, dimming,
as it dips beyond.
Deanne Napurano

terrified, grateful, invincible, loving, and vulnerable.