Waiting at the Clinic Amanda Knight Then there is that swirling mass of fear and procrastination, diluted with the bilious bitter ends of thin days, like watered down compliments that slip through the parted lips of female acquaintances.
And above that stomach full of clumps, under constricted throat clogged intermittently by lumps, lives your heart that now beats faster, delivering dread and blood rich red nutrient-laden to six-week-old potential The white nurse told you-palpitatingthat the cells are no bigger than a grape. And you think: a little green grape not yet ripening red, not yet ready but instead round and pale translucent as a soft, distant moon monthly waning, cradled now in living velvet. But in six minutes, six weeks' tangle of tiny vines twining round your heart will be torn from your body arbour. And tonight the redness, richness of the wine that seeps, weeps will startle you with the hardness of this harvest.
