Radiation Reflection, Day 12

In sunshine yellow pants, under the blue hospital gown,
I asked the doctor, what word,
exactly,
do I use to tell my
friends and family what happens at radiation.
“Do I say shoot?” or “They blast me twice?”
“We say deliver radiation,” he said.
And I said, “So it’s like a beam, but I can’t see it -”
“It’s like magic!”
And he said, “It’s photons!”
“Photons are everywhere - sun rays are
photons. We just can’t see them.
If we did, we wouldn’t see anything else.”

I’m sure this is basic science -
but I don’t know
a lot about this type of science -
so I’ll turn this into a poem -
say that I’m becoming the sun
as beams of starlight
cascade into my center,
reflect on the crescent moon scar
on my chest,
radiate through tissue and bones,
and come close to my heart.
I’m becoming photons that heal,
photons that damage,
photons that shine, invisible,
everywhere.

Perhaps wearing yellow today
was a sign -
the sun is what I’ll become.