Featured Poet / Author ~ Fall/Winter 2018
Savannah Slone earned her bachelor’s degree in English: Professional and Creative Writing from Central Washington University and will soon begin her M.F.A. in Writing at Lindenwood University. Her poetry has appeared in Manastash Literary Arts Magazine and Creative Colloquy. Savannah lives in Skykomish, WA, where she works a handful of part-time jobs and cares for her toddler with autism. She enjoys reading, writing, knitting, and hiking.
Positive
Inspired by Carolyn Forché’s, “The Colonel”.
AFTER EIGHTH PERIOD, I went to the walk in clinic. I was alone in the cold, white room. Her alligator shoes approached, leaving echoes on the sterile floor. Her frail, harsh hands clutched a document. She sat down on her lavender stool, avoiding eye contact. There were tissues, soap, and boxes with hazard signs beside her. The rubber gloves waved at me from their cardboard enclosure. On the paper was the word “positive”. It was in tiny print. A stethoscope hung around her neck to listen to her patrons’ heartbeats or lack thereof. On the walls were photographs of dense forests and raging waterfalls. She had taken my blood pressure, heart rate, temperature, height, weight, a sample of blood was drawn. Dr. Alligator Shoes readjusted the document, an inked upon piece of printer paper. I was informed that my pregnancy test had come back positive, “unfortunately”, as she put it. There was a stillness in our shared air. Her words had stolen my future. There was some empty talk about my options. The waterfall on the wall raged on. The owner of the alligator shoes spoke my name and asked if I was listening. The wind through the trees said to me with their breath: speak what you wish. Dr. Alligator Shoes returned me to reality by tapping her pen in agitation. Her hand released her pen on accident. The pen dropped onto the floor. Its plummet was like an echoed scream in our silence. I can’t put it any other way. She picked the pen up with her hands and gave it one final tap. It was laid to rest with that dying beat. You’re in shock she said. As for your options, it appears that you might be interested in scheduling an abortion. I revolved my neck in line with hers to meet eyes. Because I’m young and afraid, you assume I want to terminate? I said. Her pen clicked again before the tapping resumed. The tapping tapped on until it dropped to the floor.
To view more from Savannah pick up a copy of the Fall/Winter 2018 issue