She was ninety
Wearing a hat broad
A blue ribbon bow
Its tendrils hung to the side
teasing the cobalt in her
childlike eyes
She had the stature of grandeur
Elegance understated and
a joyful life refined
by wisdom and grace
I escorted her to the fitting room
Private and secluded
A ritual which daunts survivors;
for their nakedness is demanded
A vulnerability mocks
their journey of undeniable anguish
and understated bravery
A true embodiment of womanhood
whose breast had once:
Seduced a lover's touch
Felt the sensation of desire
Glorified the sultry contour
of a cashmere sweater
which caressed her fullness
then angled to a womanly waist
Nursed a suckling babe
She had the finesse of a ballerina
This beautiful lady, a decade shy
of a gifted century
Half of that century, a new lease
She gently removed her silk blouse
while speaking of mundane things
Then stating preferences
of fullness and weight
She was aged and strength had waned
But she loved lace, desiring curvaceouness
where battle scars touted her story
Forty years ago, she had no choice
Surgeons of the century
removed her definition of womanly
Yes, her definition and every survivor
I had stripped and measured
While we, untouched by mutilation,
declare with misplaced but sincere encouragement
“It is not your breast which define your womanhood”
They will concur, but the mirror
reflects what is gone
I see the tears pool in their soft eyes
Like hers, despite the years, and she leans into the mirror
defying the image of ragdoll sutured scars,
creviced skin and bones
where womanhood was once defined
So like the others, she gathers her composure
Turns to face me in her complete exposure
“You know I can still dance. In fact I danced with
Derek Hough last night. Do you know who he is?”
“Of course I do! The young talented dancer on
'Dancing with the Stars' ”
She retrieves her iPhone
and pulls the video
Ninety years old, filled with passion and with spirit
The crowd applauded, his rival
A talented beauty she was
I gather her new prosthesis
to help her don her second silhouette
She stood gazing at the reflection
from all angles
She sighed softly and then smiled
“You must give up your secret
of your exquisite feminity and spirit.”
She replied,
“Dear lady, it’s been forty years
I would lie if I said
there were still days I do not grieve
But at the end of the day I know
breasts are just ornaments of beauty,
but the abundance of life is the blessed tree
from which the ornaments once adorned.“
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