Linda Laderman

My oncology appointment was two hours ago. There’s a steady drip of wheelchairs, walkers, and
caregivers. I dip into a bowl of Life Savers and mini malted milk balls, take a juice, and wait.
Behind me is a painting that covers an entire wall. A gift in memory of a woman’s beloved – a
collage of figures, splashed with streaks of reds, yellows, blues. They hover over the edge of
something, maybe water. A woman points and whispers. I nod. Her bony legs are the size of a
man’s wrist. My body’s stiff. I stand and scroll through a touch screen – a showcase featuring
patients who suffer from an array of cancers. In it, a child rings a bell, a hospice patient rests her
head on a man’s shoulder. It would be nice to have that shoulder, to close my eyes. I bristle when, first thing, an elderly man, his back bent like the curve of a cane, is asked his date of birth.
I picture a waiting room where no one has names, only badges: Hello, my name is DOB. A nurse
gestures and asks for my birthdate. I give her my name.

Linda Laderman’s poetry has appeared in numerous literary journals, including Action-Spectacle, SWWIM, and  Rust & Moth. She is a past recipient of Harbor Review’s Jewish Women’s Prize. Her micro-chapbook, What I Didn’t Know I Didn’t Know is online at Harbor Review. Previously, she was a journalist and taught English at Owens Community College and Lourdes University, in Ohio.