Shaun R. Pankoski

Taking Off the Bandages After the Mastectomy

The Jackson-Pratt drain
has thin, rubber tubing
and a soft, round squeeze ball
that looks like a grenade.

Bless the heart of my surgical nurse,
who wrapped me in yards
and yards of gauze and tape
after the surgeon did his deed.

I do not bleed, just ooze,
and all the drugs
have not worn off yet,
so the unwrapping

feels like it’s happening
to someone else. It’s not the first time,
so I know the pain will come—
sharp, bright and other-worldly.

For now, I just see stitches,
like bird tracks in snow,
like words penned by someone
who wants to survive.

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Shaun R. Pankoski (she/her) is a poet most recently from Volcano, Hawaii. A retired county worker and two time breast cancer survivor, she has lived on both coasts as well as the Midwest as an artist’s model, modern dancer, massage therapist and honorably discharged Air Force veteran. A 2024 Pushcart Prize nominee, her poems have appeared here and in ONE ART, Quartet, SWIMM, Thimble, Mackinaw Journal and MockingHeart Review, among others. She was selected as a finalist by Lefty Blondie Press for her chapbook manuscript, Tipping the Maids in Chocolate: Observations of Japan. Her work also appears in Anacapa Review (Vol. 1, No. 10).