Poetry selection from the 2011 issue
The Nature of Healing
by Ann Falcone Shalaski
What is there to say to a daughter
after surgeon’s knife skates silent
lines across her chest? Flesh divided,
breasts no longer her landscape.
When mirrored image reflects fragile
skin, textured like washed silk,
what’s been lost is in plain sight.
When strangeness of it all spins her
like a lump of clay on a potter’s wheel,
deep inside, she weeps.
What is there to do but reach out?
The way a lily reaches for light.
Wrap her in gold foil and tell her,
I see you as I’ve always seen you—
a gift, luminous and promising.
Do what a mother needs to do.