Return to Top of Page
Menu
  • Close
  • About Us
  • Contributors
  • Donate
  • Opportunities
  • Staff
  • Submissions
  • 20 Years
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Instagram
  • Search Website
Literary Mama
  • Current Issue
  • Past Issues
  • Departments
  • Blog
  • Newsletter

Poetry | February 2008

The Sonogram Technician

By Jenny Rough

In the shower this morning I think of her.
About how I can’t remember her name,
or even her face.
Her colors and shape elude me.

But I remember the way she searched the sonogram image
one measure too long.
And the strain in her words that echoed inside:
No heartbeat
No heartbeat
No heartbeat.
I remember the tissue she gave,
and the way she touched my knee;
the silence that mingled with her breath.

She didn’t rush me,
I remember.
Instead,
she let my tears slide out
in their slow, sad
time.

Leave a Reply Cancel reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Share This Page

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Email
  • Copy Link

Jenny Rough

Learn More

Subscribe to Our Newsletter

Don't miss out on Literary Mama news and updates

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Instagram
  • Instagram
  • RSS

© 2023 Literary Mama | Search Site | About Us | Staff | Submissions | Privacy Policy