Carol Muske-Dukes
The beginning, the mother's breast,
tipped into the mouth of the infant,
the white thirst that becomes, later,
Intoxication, desire for the perfection
of her body as the field, double-field --
inviting, again, the mouth. A red thirst
a hurt, that the scar, taking away the
dream of perfection, makes inviolate.
Her eyes above the whiteness where
there were nipples, redness where
the head cradled -- her eyes seeking
what was lost, what lesson was hers within
the dream, within the white cells of the hive.
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A National Book Award finalist