Today He Will Cut Me Open by Cheryl Heineman

The doctor stops by my bed.
I’m in a hospital gown in pre-op.
I touch my old scars.
I say: Do you just keep cutting
until there is nothing left?

I don’t get where cancer fits.
I have opened my arms in the rain,
kissed sailors on the train,
drunk with certainty
of my right to exist.

I wore long skirts.
For God’s sake,
I had daisies in my hair.

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Cheryl Heineman graduated December 2017 with a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing from San Diego State University. She also has a Master’s degree in Jungian Psychology and has published two collections of poetry, Just Getting Started and something to hold onto. She will be publishing a new collection of poetry in late 2018: It’s Easy to Kiss a Stranger on a Moving Train.

Photo: Samuel Zeller