Only when I lift both arms above
my head, as when a child is asked How big?
and reaches high and solemnly and waits
to be released by whoops of praise; and only
since that long girlhood of mine is long
gone, my hospital gown open, as I hold
this pose at your request so your hand can guide
their gaze across my breasts; and even then
only these discerning interns would notice
my subtle loss of shape, last summer’s scar.
As far as anyone can tell, the wish
my well-wishers had for me to push beyond
the unspeakable news you gave one year ago
is granted. They call my name each time I turn
to look away as if I’d heard a voice
behind a screen at dusk. I must return
to you each season, to your hands’ brisk passage
across my flesh, each nipple rubbed for no one’s
pleasure, in pure thought, and finally,
your findings. I make my well-trained terror wait
for you to give permission not yours to give
which I grab from you each time you shake my hand
and let me go. As far as anyone knows,
even you, we’ll meet again when pears are long
since fallen, soft, scuffed. I’m off
for now. I’m on my feet, outside, out there
where all the others seem to be, where another
brazen summer noon is holding forth.
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