To the woman with the pendulating breasts

​To the woman with the pendulating breasts:

Thank you. 

 
A stony expression fixed on the blinking walk signal

flashing LED bright against the watercolors of post-deluge dawn, 

a weathered, strong knuckle grip anchored to a cardboard coffee
cup of recycled materials no doubt somewhat less terrible for the earth 
 

as far as disposable drinking vessels go, 

faded baseball cap shoved tight down over tin hair,

metal-stubborn curling out sideways in a relentless fight for flight, 

bouncing slightly with each step, 

as your breasts swing free, long with the care

of children, almost certainly, and lovers, and wear, and 

gravity and lived age, the thin cotton of your tanktop an ephemeral barrier against the heat of july and the gaze

of strangers. 

 
Thank you, because I dreamt of my mother and woke up missing her,
and wishing 

(oddly or not) that I could see her solidly

marching along a sidewalk, bra-less and brazen.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
july 2014, copyright Sarah Hirsch