bOObs.

Friends, I have always favored 

the skin of my forearms and hands. 

Tiny freckles like flecks 

of tan sand; my personal dot-to-dot. 

You know, I have a favorite, 

hiding in the crease of my knuckle

on my right ring finger. 

My wrists bear no inflicted keepsakes. 

Though needle and ink 

were commissioned to inspire 

a permanent reminder--  

there is always more to say. 

Arrow drawn on forearm  

I am not the target. 

And yet friends I must confess, 

I have always hated my breasts. 

I went to sleep a child and woke 

to the body of a woman.

And I am only ten when my mom tells 

me to wear a bra 

with my nightgown.

It became the summer of suddenly banned 

tank tops and a one piece bathing suit required

a tee-shirt over that, too. These lopsided 

globes, this mass of excess became mockery. 

A comparison to Dolly Parton, 

or my own Aunt Veda, both with reputations 

along the colossal. 

Boys and “uncles” paid 

more attention, teased, 

and harassed bra straps. 

Friends, do you know 

what color my eyes are? 

Probably not, as if eye color 

matters. Men never look up 

when they ask me to dinner, 

they are only there for the dessert. 

My friend has perfect breasts, like those in Cosmo. 

The kind that compliment 

a body, you know, attractively noticeable 

but not overtly distracting. 

Perky, like a mango that is ripe. 

Exquisite to fit in the palm 

of your, my…hmmm.

And yet mine, are none 

of those things -- always awkward 

or in the way. Are the reason buttons 

strain and twist or snaps 

threaten divorce, and are without fail 

the why, when explaining 

a stain on my favorite shirt.  

But then again, this skin 

became a cradle 

of soft breath and eyes 

looked up at me 

and well, to amend, 

I do not hate them. 

They do have some perks.

Obviously, I know how to appreciate 

the fullness, a buxom display. 

How breasts can be ample, sexy, soft, 

and supple, dare I say vivacious. 

I like the way they bounce 

when I walk and the smile they bring when I tempt 

my husband with a quick flash. 

Friends, let me however exclaim – this, 

this once despised flesh is the wonder 

where I fed my first and second born. 

It is where I learned 

hands -- palms up, placed 

with forearms open…well that 

is where hugs begin.