(for Martha
Henning)
At the copy machine,
we swap a couple
phantom limb stories
impressed upon us
by veterans’ essays.
Then she among us
with grayest hair
says she lost
her “left, best tit”
to a cancer caught
just in time. Now, when
blessed with the presence
of a nursing mother,
she can still feel
a tiny mouthful of milk
dribble from the stubborn
ghost breast welling up
through the wide scar—
imaginary warmth
filling our mouths
opened in awe
at this tender,
brutal miracle.
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