A poem reflecting on one survivor's feelings on bras.
first one was a grow it bra
stretchy pads covered two tiny bumps
not much grew in it
stuffed it with tissues
to look bigger visible straps
under white blouses
for all to see!
i love you bra
you are a part of me
even when I sleep.
decades brought many different colors
ivory, cream, midnight, even purple
until a tiny pebble was felt
nestled in one breast.
pebble became part of an unfriendly family of three
farewell breasts
toxins administered
to attack any lurking cells
perky fake boobs to follow
no need for bras.
daughter lovingly inherited them
except one
cinnamon color, lace stitching
sometimes open my drawer to touch it
I’ve loved you bra
but i love life more
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