The Sonogram Technician

 In the shower this morning I think of her.

About how I can’t remember her name,

 or even her face.

Her colors and shape elude me.

But I remember the way she searched the sonogram image

one measure too long.

And the strain in her words that echoed inside:

No heartbeat

No heartbeat

No heartbeat.

I remember the tissue she gave,

and the way she touched my knee;

the silence that mingled with her breath.

She didn’t rush me,

I remember.

Instead,

she let my tears slide out

in their slow, sad

time.

by Jenny Rough

This poem can be found here

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