Chana Bloch

In the Land of the Body

He shows me my body translated 				
into swirls of light on a fluorescent screen.
This is the thorax with its curving	    			
fingers of rib, its thick			          	 
ring of fat. These 					
are the soft blind organs, huddled, the lungs	
filled with black air.						
This is a transverse section					
of the spinal column: a white eye,				
a dark pupil. 			
I'm waiting for him to read  
my fortune:
values on a scale, relative
shades of gray.  				
Inside me everything's in color, glossy,
opaque. A lump of pain						
in a hidden pocket.									
His voice segmented, exact, he 
talks to the picture,
takes a crayon, draws
a burst of rays  		
around the star he's discovered 

but hasn't named.