Let Down

Imagine my surprise, a few years ago,

when the tell-tale tingle at my armpit

sprung upon hearing the baby's wail

from across the airport terminal. 

Years had passed since I'd last nursed a child

yet heavy with sympathy,

my long-dried ducts yearned to offer solace.

 

Yesterday, it became increasingly harder to enjoy a summer's day

and its green grass beneath my bare feet

with the relentless phantom let down

leaving my chest full of rage.

This time triggered by the cries of immigrant mothers

their breasts swollen, hard as pits,      

aching for the sweet relief  

only their babies can bring.

Adult Tonsillectomy (Poem)

Behind me