August 29: Olive

It's probably nothing, but it's growing all
wrong it's smooth which is good but it's too tall which
is bad. About the size, shape of an olive.
Olives are many

sizes I thought of the fat garlic and cheese
stuffed ones that took two messy bites to eat. Or
what about those tiny Spanish ones hardly
worth any trouble.

Kalamatas are my favorites but I don't
say no to any olives. The ultrasound
confirmed and then at the biopsy the nurse
talking silly space

filler like cheese and garlic, slipping in bits
about what will happen if this tumor is
more than an olive, if it is the wrong
kind of olive. I

listen to the drill and think of dirty
martinis and feeding cocktail olives to
my one year old in desperation at that
friend's wedding, the one

who later had in situ and a double
mastectomy. My olive core sample sent
to Connecticut frozen and examined
I wondered all week

if they saw the imbibing the indulgence
the experimentation in my olive.
A fibroadenoma, my doctor called,
you can keep it the

rest of your life it will shrink over time and
it's tagged for the future: Hello there, I am
Bridgett's olive. Pay me no more mind.