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The Machine

by Ruth Bavetta

glides above me, a moon 
contracted to candle.
I am motionless on white,

reflect on other things-rain
waiting to become sea,
hush of waves, soft 

grey kiss of mist, 
cleanliness of clouds
inside my eyes.

The angled scaffold
overhead moves and purrs,
seeking errant cells. 

Out of the dark,  
radiant energy gathers 
in my breast. 

I remember when fear
was not stacked like lumber
against the windows.

Ruth is celebrating 15 years since the radiation machine rose and set over her breast cancer. In that time, she has had four books of poetry published, and her poems have appeared in five anthologies and numerous journals.