she says as she places
her hand on my breast
beneath the paper gown.

She's new to the practice.
from Nashville.
Never met anyone from here before.
I'm a rarity, she tells me
as she spreads my knees apart.

I'd never heard the phrase
red Georgia clay
until a co-worker moved here from New York
complained about the stains
on her white tennis shoes.

As a little girl I used to believe
the devil lived beneath the dirt - -
cracks in the hardened mud
after an August rain
was him coming
up to the surface
the red color
his flames.

The walls are bare except
for a diagram of a woman's reproductive system
but it's really just an advertisement
for birth
control

don't be afraid of the devil
you don't know
I would tell myself
until one day in the backyard
I got down on my hands
and slid down the muddy hill on my bottom.

She continues to make small talk
over the clicking sound of the speculum
but this doesn't bother me - -
my insides exposed to a stranger

this is where I come from.




©2006 by Tammy Trendle