SLEEPWEAR

I want to burn that bra
my husband says, plucking

at my nursing-compliant
weird fetish brassiere

this new-mother costume
matronly as a girdle

all night I fumble to reveal
what the baby gropes for

my breasts have become
utilitarian as beer kegs

and if we dare to touch
the infant alarm goes off

someday he'll move on
to cereal and applesauce

and I'll cup my curves
in turquoise and magenta

will I recognize
the woman in the mirror

stretch marks faded silver
beneath unfamiliar silk?

This week's prompt at ReadWritePoem is a word cloud, from which I took the words fumble, costume, mirror, turquoise, magenta, cup. I always enjoy word cloud prompts -- the found words tend to send me in directions I wouldn't have gone in on my own.

This is another in my ongoing series of mother poems.

Before the baby was born I remember reading After making love, we hear footsteps by Galway Kinnell with a wry smile -- but had no idea how soon it would resonate. Anyway, I suspect his poem inspired the "infant alarm" couplet on some level.

As usual, you can read other people's responses to this week's poetry prompt by going to this week's Get Your Poem On post.

[sleepwear.mp3]