FROM THE BOOK:
Dimpled
My left breast has now become
a parody of its full and unscathed sister.
Life-saving, my left breast insists
as I slip a silicone pad into my bra.
Until this deep dimpled scar
I had hated the smooth mound
on my right shoulder,
the result of a birthmark removed.
Now I ignore that childhood disfigurement.
It could have been worse,
I'm ashamed to have complained.
My scarred breast
makes many of life's hardships
seem small,
makes me clutch each day
to my chest.
I refused reconstructive surgery,
no longer lament the little hollow bowl.
Let my body go on
in lopsidedness.
Let me compensate
for what is diminished.
The breast, even though a shadow
of itself, is still part of me,
areola and nipple intact.
This scar keeps me hitched
to gratitude
until daisies take root in my teeth.
