A constant stream of forgetting.
Then remembering.
Clothed, I bear the shape of a woman.
Naked, a prepubescent girl, my chest a battlefield of scars.
The factitious swell of breasts deceives strangers, tricks my mind.
Then a stab of pain, like a lightening bolt through the space were a nipple once lay, shatters the illusion.
My child, feverish and in need of comfort,goes to rest his head upon my chest. He stops as he remembers, and places a cushion where my breasts should be and lays down his...
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