Remembering

I can sometimes forget

that they are gone.

those mounds of flesh that were never good enough

had been scooped out and signed away

for genetic research

those bits of flesh that I cursed until the day

when I saw their magic

as they nursed my crying child to sleep

or when I learned that their milk can cure pink eye

did you know that?

some even say that their milk can cure cancer

ironic

valium helps me sleep and dream of

other things

but then I remember

when the hard cording

from the drains pull on my incisions

or when a strange piece of metal from

the expanders

protrude in such a way that I ache

or when my son or daughter needs

an embrace and I must hug with caution

my chest feels split open

and for now, I am one of the lucky ones

who was spared nipples and skin

and who found a lovely surgeon

who hid the scars under the breast

and the plastic surgeon who says,

“they will be bigger and perkier”

and isn’t life grand

but I want the old ones back

the ones that I could feel

under my shirt

the ones that fed my children

and danced with gravity

the ones that felt passion

the ones that were mine

the ones that I sacrificed

so that I might live.