I am dying of a broken heart.
Can it get any more dramatic than that
And yet, as I pull my hair into one long braid,bringing it to the side of my face,he has me stand by the old lampwith a Victorian scarf over the modern shade to dim the light more. It is so E.J. Bellocq,Daniel has become a different personaand it was so easy for him to fall into the role.He’s a man. I’m a woman younger than heand we both like flowing, fringy clothing.Sensuous. I am so wasted from no sleep, at first my face looks hard and thensoftens by the sheer lack of sleep. He indicates with a finger to open mynightgown, expose the breast we fear will be coming off.The lamp is making darkness instead of light.But he promised;and I am almost sobbing. O drama queen. But I think about no memory of my breasts in the Now-ness of this time (not that I don’t have photographs of my own naked body over a twenty year period & I, the poetic historian,almost panics. I want my breasts photographed NOW!)I may never see this darling little breast again. What if they say,
a tout alors
,” and in front of Dan just like in front of the doctor, I burstinto tears, but this time inarticulate, quiet animal sounds and I cry more andthen all of a sudden, shut down, down down into a cave of despair.Daniel quietly says,
just once…Only those who love me without exception, call me
My oldest son started it when he was eleven months old.And then I stop. There are no more tears, noise, thunder.I like my breast. How could it betray me like this and so I weep like Jacob’sWell, like the Rock of Eternal Waters and wish , pray that I couldbe healthy, be a woman leading goats and sheep to the well to drink thewater of ever-lasting light. O! dear G-d let me be healthy and a Proverbs 31wife, who dyes her cloth red linen and puts away so much food & blankets, Iam not afraid of snow for my family. Give me healthy children who might