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August, 2002
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Evelyn Holloway
Tod McCoy
Dawn-Marie Oliver
Paul Smith

my mother's hysterectomy

too many tubes & she's swollen, puffy like a bee sting victim with bad allergies & she can't stay awake, eyelids drop mid sentence as she asks, did everything go alright? for the fourth or fifth time & lying, my father says yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, until the doctor spills the truth, very bulbous, she tells my drugged-up mother, imagine working on the stalk of a mushroom, going in from the top, with an enormous, mushy crown getting in the way, & the doctor looks at my mom and winks, but we won…I always win & three days later I go back to see my mom in the sterile hallways with the commissioned comfort art & the nurse rings me in & before I can get to her room, my mother meets me halfway down the hall, hobbling & holding her middle & saying I'm so bored I'm going crazy & I can't even read on the drugs the gave me & I just want to get out of here & later she was released a day early, but still they made her ride a wheelchair through the automatic front doors.


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