"I should start swirling around and become a dustdevil. That would really be something." -James Tate, from The Ghost Soldiers

Cloud

I go to the doctor because I’m afraid about my abdominal pains. The doctor presses her palms into my abdomen in different areas, saying things like hmm, and ah, and interesting, and aha. The doctor then sends me to a dark room, where they x-ray my midsection, first standing, then laying, from every angle possible. I’m led back to the original room of stomach-pressing, and am told to sit, and not panic, whatever I do. Each squeak and growl my stomach makes sends a chill through my veins and nerves. The doctor enters the room, and I jump in my seat. You won’t want to do that anymore she says. Your stomach seems to now be made entirely of eraser, and the more you move, the more things outside of your stomach disappear. I pause for a few counts. What exactly do you mean by that I say. I mean that eventually you’ll be only a stomach, a stomach made of eraser, and we won’t know where the rest of you has gone. I get up from my seat and feel a sharp pain near my navel. Will you keep me on your mantle, and tell my story to your grandchildren one day I say. I’d be honored she says. She bends down. You’re a very brave stomach she says.