Poem
Frieda Hughes
breasts
breasts
breasts
Scarred beneath their bagsOf heavy silicone,
They were mountains,
Shored up and sharpened,
A handful of the mind’s mud
At a time. Those breasts
Weren’t for a limp sweater,
Or a bra size more than
Two saucers. Those breasts
Had purpose. Men’s eyes
Would unpage magazines
For a sight of them.
Melissa was no longer
Required to speak.
Her breasts could talk.
They had a language
And everyone
Understood.
When at last she made the photo shoot,
She gently placed her breasts
Of shiny plastic flesh
Upon the table for
The cameraman,
And left.
© 2001, Bloodaxe
From: Stonepicker
Publisher: Bloodaxe,
From: Stonepicker
Publisher: Bloodaxe,
Frieda Hughes
(United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, 1960)
Frieda Hughes published six children’s books before she finally summoned enough courage to publish her first volume of poetry, Wooroloo (1999). This hesitation is understandable, considering the fact that she is the daughter of two celebrated poets, the British poet Ted Hughes and American poet Sylvia Plath. It was inevitable that Frieda should in some way undergo the influence of two poet-pare...
Poems
Poems of Frieda Hughes
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breasts
Scarred beneath their bagsOf heavy silicone,
They were mountains,
Shored up and sharpened,
A handful of the mind’s mud
At a time. Those breasts
Weren’t for a limp sweater,
Or a bra size more than
Two saucers. Those breasts
Had purpose. Men’s eyes
Would unpage magazines
For a sight of them.
Melissa was no longer
Required to speak.
Her breasts could talk.
They had a language
And everyone
Understood.
When at last she made the photo shoot,
She gently placed her breasts
Of shiny plastic flesh
Upon the table for
The cameraman,
And left.
From: Stonepicker
breasts
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