I can’t imagine how it feels
to lose that part of you,
that little pillow of comfort,
sensuous mooring
for infant sustenance,
the mountain delightful to scale,
the red mountaineer atop it
who stakes the claim for desire.

But now it’s a loaded gun,
turned on yourself,
and the first shot’s been fired.
The surgeons will head it off
at Chestwall Pass –
and you will be lighter for it.
A necessary casualty,
nonetheless one to grieve.
It will cleave from its mate,
a sad assymetry.

In your mind,
part of what makes you woman
is gone. The trauma
will take months to heal.
Yet, even repackaged,
you remain my life’s love.
And as you begin this campaign,
survival warrior,
I’ll be at your side.

Maybe, like the Amazons,
you’ll be stronger for it –
Unencumbered, you can draw
your bow to full tension,
to snap the feathered shaft,
the metal point,
straight for the target
that is the rest of your life.

[dedicated to my wife - please also read my sonnet, "Your Missing Piece".]

02/20/2002

Posted on 02/20/2002
Copyright © 2024 Bruce W Niedt