In Praise of Falling

Changing Room

Changing Room In the changing room mirror I catch myself staring at an older woman’s breasts mapped by thick lace, a history of infant’s lips, tiny fingers tapping for more.At my age, my mother’s breasts filled with gold milk she would feed me at birth—my body a crescent in her belly then, now a grillwork of ribs starved boy-thin. I rehearse facts: my ovaries are the size of shelled almonds, my uterus, a clenched fist. I want to unzip the robe of that woman’s body, pull it down off the racks  Dumesnil PGS:Layout 1 4/28/09 12:32 PM Page 36 of her bones and wear it myself: her hips cradling my hips, her shoulders wrapped around my own.  Dumesnil PGS:Layout 1 4/28/09 12:32 PM Page 37 ...