Wednesday, May 9, 2012

Tuesday Poem: Previously published by Writing Women in 1997

The Year of the Plum-Colored Bathing Suit

her breasts were blue-veined
porcelain and full of milk
for the baby.

She waited for him to notice
them spilling, a soft waterfall,
wished he would ask her
to put marmalade on them at tea-time.

All summer she offered him sweet rolls,
hoped he would cup her lightly
in long china fingers.

Instead he stayed out of the water, reading,
or changing the baby's diapers,
or teasing their oldest boy

1 comment:

Helen McKinlay said...

Hello Eileen
I can really appreciate this poem as an (ex) brest feeding mother. It speaks volumes. and yet is still a mystery. What was he really thinking?