My Breasts Address my Head

I wrote this in Magi Gibson's Wild Women writing workshop at the West Cork Literary Festival, 2014. I am re-posting here for Vanessa. The exercise was to write a poem to a part of our body.

We were young, tender

Pretty rosebuds

But as we grew you forced us to be fierce

Jutting out, pert, on the alert

Like guns

We were grabbed and fondled

Twiddled and pinched

We went out on the town like warriors

Pressed together like Madonna’s missiles

In a black lace breast cage wonder-bra

Roaring to be let out

You gave us attitude, aggression, the art of seduction

We got smaller when you stopped eating, more breast-fallen than crest-fallen

We sagged, we hung there, forlorn, dejected

Ignored, neglected and un-loved

We flopped under baggy jumpers while you ran up and down corridors screaming

And then, by 29, we grew large as the baby kicked and turned in the womb below us, 32B to 36C and beyond

Filling up with milky love, opulence and the promise of tenderness, ripening abundance about to fall into womanhood

But you were dumped, single and saving our fabulous flesh for your baby

We became breeze blocks, milk ducts, the let-down reflex

The clickety-clack of tongue latching on, pressure drop, guzzling colostrum

“She’s a great milker like her mother!” your father exclaimed in front of your friends

It’s true, we flow like a fountain, lactating champagne from the source of life

And now; erotic, sensual

Hoisted up in leopard print

Titillating in French lace

Nipples like bullets

Aroused 

Dandelion Venus by Gráinne Quick-Humphrys

Am I the splendid yet gracious lily, a kept one
whose sensual scent hangs thick in the air of shady hallways with gilded mirrors and heirlooms?

Or am I the orchid, ornamental, a rare one
a vision of loveliness, audible gasps on sighting the elusive muse of blooms?

Or am I the house rose; manicured, monitored, hidden away
trained in walled gardens, a bouquet on display tended by expert hands?

Or am I the wild rose rambling
who cavorts with blackthorn and briar scrambling up the walls of messy, tumbledown houses with abandon?

Or am I the ragged robin, a wild roadside waif who dances on waysides with foxglove and honeysuckle and meadowsweet?

Or am I violet; delicate, fragile, shy, quivering in the grass with buttercup and being ever so timid and neat?

Or am I daisy; sunny, unassuming yet all over the place in fields with thistle, poppy, forget-me-not and cornflower blue?

Or am I magnolia, marvellous petals unfurl and azalea blazes while the exotic cherry blossom blooms?

Or am I a bluebell in a wood, with a gentle stream at my foot, fresh and new?

Or am I the wild heather who graces the mountains and moors with fern, bracken and rock, with gorse, clover and hawk?

Or am I aromatic jasmine, permeating the air with my syrupy fragrance like lupin, sweet pea and night-scented stock?

Am I a flower; admired for my beauty then plucked?
Tracked for my scent and then fucked?
Discarded when I fade and die; wilted, forlorn, thrown on the ash pile
Dreams of former glory as night’s new blossom blooms, stealing the show
Taking my place on tables, at dances, in hallways and furtive glances
Am I good for nothing but dalliances and romances?

Am I all of these flowers? Did I at least try to be a flower for every season in every region for every person? Do I hold them all within? Am I primrose, a snowdrop? Am I a daffodil, a crocus? Will I be lined up for a posie?

In that case I am the dandelion venus

A dandy lion venus!
Ignore and discard me at your own peril, treat me like a common weed
But the wind blows my creative seed
You can even eat me! I am good for your health!
I grow back year after year on waysides, in pavements
I grow in impossible places, on hostile terrain
I annoy established lawns!

I am everywhere; pissy resilient
I nourish and torment with my sense of self, my solar plexus, opus sexus
“Oh no there she is, back again! Why won’t she just die?”
I double up as a clock flower, a dandelion globe to tell the time, to gate crash life
Remind you with a bright yellow, buoyant, sunshine roar
you can’t keep a good thing down, whether you like it or not
I exist in my own right and I am here for the long haul