A thin woman waits across from me

Her long hair shaded halfway between blond and gray

White turtleneck covered by a raspberry pinked sweater

She sits bolt upright, eyes closed

Appears to be meditating

Or asleep, I can’t tell

Her feet anklecrossed

Hands lapfolded

I imagine a dozen fictions that have brought her here

I imagine my own fictions salted with bare facts

When I’m summoned the technician tells me her name is Claire

Like a server at a restaurant except that I have no menu to make choices from

I strip to the waist and get plugged in

This machine bears no resemblance to the first Philips recording device I recall

That amazing cassette recorder that allowed portable sound

Only the name is familiar

These sounds that emanate sporadically are tidalsurged

Fluidly sloshing through valves that whipsnap shut

Four voices to whisper their murmurs of truth and love

It’s intimate feeling her fingers on my chest, pressing

Moving methodically and gently, pressing

I wonder if she is so controlled and measured

When she lies supine and exposed while fingers press and probe

I am repositioned so that I am looking at the rise and fall of her breasts

A handspan away

I wish I could cup one for balance

I wonder if she can read that heart thought from the display

At the end, she passes me a towel

To wipe off the residue of our encounter

Tenderly intimate

With the familiarity of a touched heart

David Trudel    ©  2013


Filed under Cardiology, Poetry

7 responses to “ECG

  1. Oh! Only you could make an echocardiogram an erotic/romantic experience. Love it.

  2. jeglatter

    There is intimacy on so many levels to be found in medical practice. Perfect example here. -Jennifer

  3. healthiestbeauty

    Reblogged this on The healthiest beauty.

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