I tripped over my breasts today.

If not literally,

Then in some ripped out slip of a dream

Caught between the coffee and the windshield wipers.

And, I think that stumble was a question:

“How did I end up here?”

Here – in this neutered, prescribed world that binds the breasts

Like the minds of children.

 

See, in my last life

I was a Mayan ritual dancer.

Or maybe it was further back,

In Lemuria, say.

Yeah, that other crusty ancient place

That sacrificed big breasted women

Repelling science

With an irresistible smash of art and sex and war.

 

I danced bare-breasted

I swung free, eclipsing my own shadow

And the sun bore down

Until the sweat ran

In a salt-slick river through the canyon between,

And I screamed as I was taken down –

Thank God I never had to wonder why –

And I died, sated

As all big breasted women did back then.

 

Ampersand Review, volume 4This poem originally appeared in Volume 4 of The Ampersand Review.

 

 

Felicia A Rivers rolls around the Greene Townes west of Philadelphia, chasing a BA in English at Villanova, performing odd (yet respectable) jobs for a financial firm, and wondering if we have all lost our ever-lovin’ minds. Then she writes about it.

Photo by Skip Middleton, Windfyre Photography.  Used by permission.  See more of his work on DeviantArt or follow him on Facebook.

Filed under: Poetry

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