mammogram ovenbird We must look inside my body to see if anything sinister grows. I’m told this is routine. We will pepper my skin with x-rays that will slip between cells, parting the flesh that hides my interior mysteries. The part of me that failed to feed my babies could fail me in other ways, it seems. You are here to knead me into pliability, to make a window into all the places that have never been seen. What strange intimacy. I’m a daisy plucked and pressed, deemed precious enough for preservation. I feel no shame, just a sudden pain as I am pinched and crushed, briefly, a butterfly between the pages of a heavy book, a leaf tucked into the family Bible. The thing is, that I want to live, though this hasn’t always been true. Will you find a knot of destruction, there inside the tenderest part of me? I want to see what you have been allowed to witness. This mycelial moon, this waterless world. 260817 what's it to you? who go blather from