Victoria Elizabeth writes, “I am an army veteran who has survived
three bouts with cancer. I have been published in 11 states, but even if I were
never published I would still write. Poetry is my immortality, my infinity.”
Double Amazon
I don’t have breasts,
and without nipples,
not even a chest:
I have two diagonal scars
slicing flesh void of sensation
from breastbone to armpits.
Amazon women cut off
one breast to better fit
the bow and arrow.
They wore their scar
with armor plated pride,
earned their warrior names.
Will I now be christened
Breastbone-between two-scars?
Those fierce, brave
Amazon women kept
one breast free for caresses,
fingered nipple fluttering,
moist tongued pulsations.
Exposing my bareness to chills,
I hunt for breezed erections,
watch my fingers glide
along the dipping scars,
but no touch reconnects
absent nerves, no fantasy
retrains vacant space to feel.
I remember when within these
blood-stitched emptied pockets,
creamy blossoms jitterbugged
behind blushing pink buds.
Carving out both breasts
chisels the fiercest warrior.
