BRCA1
13 BRCA1 She has the gene, the cytosine, adenine her mother sister had, her sother mister had, they’ve named the gene. If I named a gene I’d name it Gene, I knew a Gene, brother to Greg. We are like genetically mice, tiny creatures with toes, she is like genetically 87 percent likely to have breast cancer, ovarian cancer: ovum, Oppen, open, closed. So come July, away with thee, mammaries and ovaries, live together in imperfect harmony . . . it only takes a day to remove the real and add, pick a word: prosthetic, cosmetic, the faux breasts and the egg sacks are just gone, call them the nothings, the novaries. And there I am/was cringing, and there she is/was smiling, touching my hand, saying nononononono, this is a good thing, the best thing the universe has come up with since the wet kiss, I am taking dialogic license there hicok pages i-120.indd 13 1/7/10 3:23 PM 14 but she was happy as a torch in a Frankenstein flick. The townspeople have gathered to kill the monster. It’s dark, but they have fire, she has fire, she’s going to kill the monster that killed her mother, her sister, if I may pare-a-phrase down to its essentials: hurray. But ouch. Hurray. But seriously: ouch. And the world, one day, had a second sky, a sky for just the sky to stare up and deepblue and into, and a lake for the lake to dive giggling in and doggypaddle across, and a new and soon improved her sitting there mid-life grinning brights, grinning hard-core and full-bore and seriously madcap happy about a knife. hicok pages i-120.indd 14 1/7/10 3:23 PM ...
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