the woman smashing my breasts between two trays of plastic gently adjusts the helmet and then tells me to relax
afterward, my breasts, digitized, scanned through,
x-rayed, inside out on the screen remind me of giant eyes.
she has pulled me me gesturing like she did while i stood
topless and barefoot with a heavy radioactive blocking skirt
wrapped around my waist, into the next room to show me,
saying, in English, Bee-U-ti-fullllll! and clapped me hard on the back.
I’ve thought them beautiful before, my love’s tongue
slowly tracing a nipple, or a hand gently cupping them.
when they hurt, stretched to fullness, and my baby’s mouth,
a tiny open circle of need pulled the ache out. I did’nt think
they were beautiful when i shoved them into not one but two
too-small-for-me sports bras, the technology not advanced enough
to keep them from bouncing.
I did not think they were beautiful when I felt shamed to wear a bra,
in denial they existed, my dad’s hand on my back in church, gently rubbing,
and me, not wantinghim to feel the band of a bra, not wanting to feel
that I’d grown up enough to need one. but I needed one. Pissed at mom
that one Christmas, thin dress, for the family photo, matching
with my baby cousins, me, the oldest nipples shining out.
I was twelve, and too big, too tall, already developed,
press them, pancaked, hide, cover, high neck, sinful, too voluptuous,
d, double d, pregnant, nursing, firm, not so firm, falling, soft, softer,
aching, stretched, useful, ancient, sprouting random hairs,
the only sustenance any of us needs, craved, not enough, shrunken,
chubbed up, smashed between two plastic trays for the first time
because now I’m forty one, clear, thank God, this year, and beautiful,
according to the Chinese aunty smashing them now, gently lifting
and placing them just so, to take a picture of duct and shadow,
seek out what might be hiding there to kill me, even though these breasts
have given life, fed and been loved, been looked at, gawked at,
groped in an alleyway by a boy I didn’t like but still wanted to kiss,
they’ve been with me my whole life, seeing them now with this woman
beside me, yes they are beautiful, thank you.
4 thoughts on "the woman smashing my breasts between two trays of plastic gently adjusts the helmet and then tells me to relax"
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This an ode to breasts, the best I’ve ever read! Well done.
You are, Wordsmith.
Fantastic poem. You make it feel the discomfort and the love and the self-affirmation. Thank god for that wonderful Chinese aunty! Glad you listened to her.
Such a fun, inviting title. The poem reads in way like an autobiography, the way it spans the decades.
Not sure about “they’ve been with me my whole life.”