Volume I, Issue II Winter 2002


After a restless night
I sit on my patio and watch the dawn.
The encroaching light illuminates
each drop of dew
breast so delicately poised
on the tips of the long blades of grass.
Sipping at a mug of hot coffee,
I watch the night's shadows slowly fade;
but my thoughts are with my friend.
And breasts.
Specifically her left breast, removed yesterday
by a surgeon's knife.
One living pink-nippled breast lost,
exchanged for fear and pain.
One soft and pliable breast gone
to a rapidly growing invasive mass,
And one more woman
is thrown into an unknown and uncertain world
of chemotherapy and radiation.
Finally, my own anger began to find form,
had grown with my brooding.
And I realized that without even noticing,
I'd sought out my own left breast;
unconsciously slipping
my hand underneath my shirt.
(I needed to be reassured of its health),
to examine its firm wholeness.
To take comfort
in its familiar warmth and weight.
And I was now calmly sitting
in the day's first light,
watching the dew disappear from the grass.
The start of this new day
brought only thoughts of survival
rates and the new reconstructive procedures.
And how best to support my
frightened friend.
All while my own left breast remained
protectively cupped,
in the palm of my right hand.

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