A Poem for National Breast Cancer Awareness Month....

October Memory


I remember my first one.
I guess I was about 13,
at least that’s what I consider
to be the first “real” one.
Not pretend, like the ones
my mom bought me
when I was 11 or 12.
This one wasn’t stretchy;
it had that all important
number-letter combination,
and I had to try on several
before finding the perfect one.


I remember standing before
the three-way mirror,
admiring the way it gently
propped up my soft white flesh,
creating the subtle nuance of curves…
curves that I hoped would catch
the attention of Bobby and Mike
and Steve and Doug,
but mostly Bobby.


I remember the little blue
forget-me-nots, and the row
of lace picot adorning the ridge,
the satin white bow in the center,
and the double hook I had mastered
to fasten behind my back
without looking.
Anxious for the first time
my future boyfriend would
uncock it with a single hand.


I remember the one I bought
when I was 23.
It stayed in its box for 7 months,
in the bedroom down the hall,
in a basket filled with onesies,
receiving blankets, and rags
to drape over my shoulder.
I couldn’t wait to wear that one.
It wasn’t quite as pretty
as the drawer full I had become
accustomed to wearing,
but I couldn’t wait for the first time
I’d fold down the flaps,
let down my milk, and hear
the coo and sweet suckling
of my baby boy.


I remember the one I purchased
when I was 36 –
both in size and age.
It was my first one in red,
hoping “Ruby Temptress”
would live up to its name,
hoping to rekindle a flame,
before the next cool wind
extinguished the final flicker.
No such miracle occurred.
No such secret revealed.


It’s a cool day in October.
Today I remember 13.
I remember 23.
I remember 36.
Today, there are no
little blue flowers
or alluring shades of scarlet
to choose from.
There is only the white one,
sterile with a flap, this time
only on the left side,
where I believe the surgeon
may have also cut away
a piece of my heart.
And the prosthetic
can’t quite fill the space.