It is so much easier to write about things like
my encounter at the tanning salon,
where everyone thinks I'm there
for the same reason I assume they are.
Which is funny because I'm not white.
At the same time, it's nice to feel Normal
like I Fit In, even as I'm indignant
because I hate the smell of roasting flesh.
I'm there because winter makes my skin worse.
My mind goes into withdrawal
and my body follows suit,
longing for dregs of Vitamin D.
As opposed to my afternoon in the OR,
excising breast cancer with Dr. K.
Dr. K chats as he supervises me working,
ensuring no errant artery or nerve is led asunder.
We stumble upon the topic of my parents
and suddenly there's too much to say,
a paucity of words with which to say it,
and too many ancillary ears waiting to hear.
We're past the point in the case requiring concentration,
now it's rote muscle memory, closing in layers,
bringing the tissues back together minus the tumor.
Dr. K knows I'm struggling- he always knows,
whether it's with the case or the conversation-
and he leaves it be.
"Good job, doctor" and he shakes my hand
over the sterile field like he is sometimes wont to do,
but this time he gives me an extra pat.
19 January 2012