Breasts [poem by James Cummins]

William Bailey "N" (Female Nude) c. 1965

Breasts

He never thought breasts antagonistic.
Unreachable, perhaps; unknowable, either
in the Biblical or secular sense. Mythic.
But the glorious revelations that exceeded
what he once would have optimistically

called expectations, more than made up
for the years of staring out windows.
Then to be admitted to the secret mysteries:
girls wanted him to look at their breasts,
to touch their nipples with his trembling

fingers, lips, rough palms—they even
displayed them sometimes, impatiently,
waiting for him to get it, at least a little.
Then comes the good stretch of life—
still tense, but with relaxed outings,

to movies, canoes, campfires. Quilt shows,
as the young couple searches for a flag
they can purchase together that stands
for the small country they’ve become,
& snugly covers their connubial bliss.

Ah, Sunday afternoons in Amish country ...
Smell of hay & manure, roast beef & potatoes,
the tang of fall making way for winter ...
Quilts cover sleep, the metaphor for death.
Quilts proclaim to the world this man,

this knight, is no longer on the quest—
for the Grail Castle, immortality, boobies ...
He just wants to rest in her arms as his wife
watches the gray window for them both;
and to know this place for the first time.

James Cummins' most recent book is Everyday Knowledge. 

Comments

[Angela Ball]

Dear Jim, how I enjoyed this poem. A. Alvarez once said to me (and my class) that "when two people are in love one of them is always staring out of a window." I love how your last line gives this notion the lie. -Angela

[jim c]

Thank you so much, Angela. Great to hear you.