i gather myself into the bra
the cancer society sends me
i am grateful
but it is ugly
an old lady bra not sexy i’m deformed
when I go home to Sicily
my father reminds me
with
his eyes
that i’m forgetting to make myself look like
i’ve got two breasts
so that my mother won’t notice
and worry about her cancer and mine
he gives me the fix it they’re not even look
i keep my secret, until mom grabs my left arm for balance
i screammmmm
like a never ending bad dream
she asks me, I say “just a little surgery on my arm”
finally I call a truce
with the woman I am now
and the woman I once was
gazing the mirror/ I give them both the once over
realizing/ we are still the same woman
i hug them both
ok no more hideous colorless bras
we adorn ourselves with real underwear
lingerie/pretty bras
sexy sensuous red/ animal leopard skin
lace/ silk/ satin/suede
earrings crosses
(Jesus keep me near the cross)
i take shoulder pads and nylon
cut
stuff
sew
shape
until i make it perfect
it took a long time ,
but I finally got it right…
even/ equal on both sides
now i can look normal in a swimsuit
26
african Voices