shot glass
title
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Krista Genevieve Farris


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To My Husband Upon Reconstruction

I cup the gel and feel no nerves in the mound.

In my palm, firm sensation of swollen days spent nursing when
estrogen ran freely and progesterone fueled a rush of milk when the
babies were hungry and when I climaxed or when I was nervous or
exercising or we were arguing about something dumb like
undercooked pancakes or whether a toddler could have a cup of
Coke. Emotions streaming through hormones and hopes–

not a lack of
and certainly

Not through cancer then.

I know why I asked to seal in sand. Silicone. Guarded softness,
live curiosity, embodied yen to believe I can feel something more
than scars and a void where a nipple once was when we reach for my heart.