Buttons were a problem. My back hurt.
I said to the surgeon, take these breasts
away from me. I wanted to leave something
of my twenties in the biowaste bin. I wanted
to welcome my reflection, which is to say
I was not yet clear of naïveté. I caught a chill
in a curtain-partitioned warehouse called
a surgery center. I wanted the nurse to notice
my shivering or my tongue to shape, may I
have a blanket? The year we were left to teach
our own children, the manual said place
your hand over your throat and speak.
If you feel a vibration, the word is voiced.
The word is voiceless if you feel nothing.
Constance Hansen
Constance Hansen is Managing Editor of Poetry Northwest. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in: Pleiades, Rhino Poetry, West Branch, Image Journal, Harvard Review Online, Four Way Review, The Cortland Review, Epiphany, Vallum, Southern Humanities Review, and elsewhere. She lives in Seattle with her family.
