Bone scan

We are on the way from the doctor's office
to the hospital as I loosen the flimsy tape
sealing the manila envelope,
and slide out its contents.
The light from the windshield filters
through the transparent photograph
of illuminated ribs, hips, and vertebra:
a map of places that have been traveled
on my father's continent of bones:
the landmarks and hotspots circled --
the ink heavy, pooled, dark.

For a few minutes I am fascinated
by the heavily-dotted landscape,
the patterns and annotations
that describe terrain, routes, density.
But when we pull onto the highway
my mother asks me to put it away.

We both know that what I hold in my hands
is not a map for tourists or explorers;
it is a radioactive record of sites invaded,
targets hit, strategies revealed.
A battle zone on film.