Worry etch-a-sketched its way across my face
Zig-zag connected its strength as fear between my eyes
Shook up time, smiles erased
Bold its lines, a harsh splash
from lash to temple
Aged, replaced who I thought I was
Taking direction from a biopsy’s preamble
Worry and waiting, giddy, held hands
A google searches hits
Terror in the text
Symptoms that all fit
While I held the phone
Held my breath
As the artist worry sketched,
Whispered death
The doctor apologized for the wait
Busy days
The news is great
The mass is benign
Worry’s voice faded
But her artwork remained
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