Meditation While Inside the Magnetic
Resonance Imaging Machine


Strapped down

on a sliding tray

my chest weighted

a connected panic ball

in my fist

should I wish to communicate

from out of

the pure white noise

of the MRI


I imagine

magnetic waves

untangling

body parts

the sound of a truck on the highway

bringing cut flowers from Bogota

the beating of a boom box

of minimalist verse and violin

vessels

carbon monoxide skies

a cherry blossom

wet streets

dead fish

plastic

destinations

accidents

ice falling

from the concrete balcony

hung on the side

of the small dirty room

where I have found refuge

walking distance to the hospital.


A mechanical

but assuring feminine voice

from inside the machine

urges that I

at intervals

breathe

hold my breath

breathe

as I slide back and forth

in and out of the thrumming

vociferous white machine

breathe stop hold your breath

it dispenses electric clangs

while digitally depicting

my defenseless body.


Succumbing to the noise

heat and magnetic monotony

of force-fields

within which suspended

I lie

I forget

to breathe

fall asleep.


The white-coats tug my arm

Are you awake

Mr. Christensen,

are you awake?


Black starlings burst

from weathered wires

into wet November skies

the cold returns.


I fumble into cloth slippers

pull at the flimsy

nightgown strings

cover my naked body.


The Magnetic Resonance Image Machine

has scanned

my heart

measured the diameter

of arteries and veins

seen that I am valves

muscles and bones.


It has not seen

that I am a worried child

frightened of being found out.

Frail


A dacron patch

serving the curve

of my aorta

a post- open-heart surgery

trauma patient

recovering

frail

but lucky

to be alive


a long brittle scar

where my brisket

is whip-stitched

together

barely hides a ridge of

stainless wire circles

below the skin


Brutally lucky

the surgeon said.

© Copyright, 2015, Peter Christensen.
All Rights Reserved.