Solomon's Choice
Diana Breen 1995
Removed, it delivers me to mending baths
where once, hanging heavy and reticent,
displaced the salty water with its weight,
a knobby manatee, floating in blue suds.
Now, flickering candles scatter shards
of mirror scars on plaster walls as I
ease what's left of me down and under.
Ego I am I named it merely one of many
of me, an arm a leg an eye; my breast
sheltered my heart, beat with a sigh.
With arms crossed X over my chest I press
both hands where babies nursed; blunt
imbalance tilts me over like a seesaw,
one shoulder sinks while the hollow rises.
In white bright rooms they cut and sew
paper people dolls, sever the offender
Scrub away the venom; gash and slice.
If we were trees, pruned trees grow back
and don't some animals sprout another foot?
I stuff my shirt with water balloon
Rhapsodizing Spring.
