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
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