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For Barbara, Who Brings a Green Stone in the Shape of a Triangle From ocean this porous shape indisputablygreen color I tell you of healing, the color I have chosen around me like a vapor, this towel on my shoulders, its green drape an air over my scar, then a shirt I pull over my head and let fall for the green lint-shed filaments of healing, moss some ancestor might bind up with spit and press onto my breast, no, the space where my breast has been. Yesterday for the space of an hour, a woman came here with her child, raised up shirt, her breast wasflesh. The child pulled where her nipple is, and touched his mouth to her and filled himself. She talked as he drank. I listened to nipple, a hiss of milk. Miracle. In your photos of green ocean and boats, a line of women in green air, their arms muscular, pulls against green water. Their breasts are bare. One, yours, shows a faint scar 20 my skin wears. In the past year I have given up four of the five organs the body holds to call itself woman. Green healer, today my body carries in its clever hand the triangle sea gave up to you and you gave me. I press it to my chest, empty of nipple, of milk, of nurture, and feel you there: friend, lover of women, teacher.You speak to me each green vowelof the life language. 21 ...

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