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  • Writer's pictureAmber Shockley

The Surgeon Apologizes That He Must Take Her Breast

My mother's knuckles always

look like they're ready to burst

forth from the skin, too wide

and bulging for birth,

like a newborn's bare bottom.

My mother, born breach,

now folds her hands in her

lap, the long fingers delicate

in the bent way a tall girl

tries to be delicate, and the surgeon

speaks to her as he would a girl, whose

breasts are blooming in reverse.


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