In the Mountains of the Lion

Imagine having to go on with no way to touch. Giving birth to the child of who knows which stoned soldier, & never knowing the silky feel of his skin, whether to caress or to shove away, away.

I let him nurse to ease the swelling in my breasts. I licked him like a cat — it was all the salt I could get. Were they not terrible, those severed hands, when they stood back up at last & began to point?