"Biopsy" surely makes my lips tremble.
Not as stunning as "malignant" or "metastasize,"
Still, it halts me in the whirl of endless life.
I couldn't bear it, except you told me long ago,
That if a flaw was found in me,
No price would be too high to rid me of the thing.
You said that either
with breasts, ovaries, and hair,
or devoid of all three, you would still love me
Because they were just some of my parts
Not the essence of my soul.
That will sustain me regardless of
any weighted words the doctor
might hold out to us.