A lover, never a mother; still possessed of the oft-remembered 19 year old breasts.
Firm, Perfect-nippled, apt in size and form.
Source of pride, of pleasure, of comfort….
And fear.
The Spot; red, tiny, sporadic.
On a tee-shirt, a sheet, a cheek.
Silent seepage, dread drainage.
Tears to match, calls, appointments, waiting rooms.
Decisions, actions, scalpels; timely and sharp, excising ducts and doubts…
Sore, bruised, swollen.
Then collapsing, dimpled.
No longer traitorous, perfect again in it’s survival; Forgiven.
A contest entry
- breathing inside the pause by Cat.
1150 points, ended January 16, 2008, 11 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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wow
I have had many "mothers" who have undergone this same sort of terror. So close. So consuming. Thank you
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this reads like a list to me.. and i think that is the writer's intention if i am reading it correctly- i think the poet
needed to write it this way to
emphasize the survival.. the list of what happened ends with survival
very nice
m -
The abstract quality of this poem that somehow wants to be a list poem spoke to me of the myraid of confusions that women feel in their own bodies...the various questions and images that a woman collects over time associated with her body and her breasts.
Thank you for sharing.
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