pulp. pulse. nectar & nourishment
It has been two years since I’ve nourished a child at my breasts
A child of two, and a few months, maybe more.
My very last to child to lay across my lap, drinking me in deep,
the familiar fast nudges to bring the milk, and the intoxicating long gulps that send eyes rolling to the back of the head.
My last child to wean, it wasn’t easy. The final trick was plasters across my nipples ‘owies’ I’d tell her frustration, as she’d demand my breasts from my top.
We’d compromise, she’d ask to touch the hair under my armpits, snuggle her face in as deep as she could and breathe me in, with a sigh, finally resting with her toddler palm across my bandaged breast.
It has been two years, and that four year old sleeps stretched between me and my lover
a bridge between parallels,
we make shapes of the alphabet all night, turning in rhythm to each other – I find myself stretched long across the foot of the bed, other times, curled as tightly as I can clinging to a corner of the super-king sized mattress.
Her limbs, longer now, push themselves into the warmth of my thighs
burying herself between the heat of her father and me
still asking for the scent of my armpit,
to cuddle my breasts and declare them ‘the squishiest’
I’m bleeding, and with each months blood I wonder how long I’ll still have my womb
or will it bleed its way out, needing rescue from my body, and me from it –
will it happen in 12 years time, when I am the age my mother was – being rescued from my first home within her? Nights in intensive care having strangers blood dripping into her veins as her own blood left her body too quickly in surgery.
I sit on the toilet, naked from top to ankle
my jumpsuit revealing the entirety of my body
faded underwear and blood stained hieroglyphics
a Rorschach test stretched between my knees.
I examine my breasts, thinking about how long ago it has been
the pinching ache reminds me of the handful of times I pumped milk
I squeeze again, wondering how much effort it would take to re-lactate if I really needed to.
To my surprise two beads form on the tip of my nipple,
One opal white, and one translucent gold
I tap my finger to the sap of my body,
Sticky, sweet, life giving elixir
Still residing within my breasts at a moment’s caress
White tissue blots the life from my body
bright rich reds, nearly black
life. life giving, and death
residing within my body.