Manifesto – 9 Years Old: The First Time I Saw Breasts

by Sam Hutchings


Think of some Platonic dialect you never read.
Think haggard wooly-beard Neanderthal lookin’

Motherfucker clawing his way from The cave,
eyes baptized by revelations of wonder, the sun

A nipple of light in the Sky. Think some Columbus-god,
raw unseen earth curving over gauzy horizons, a green

Blouse to be lifted, awaiting to discover a strangers
caress. Think midnight street-sweepers bristling against the

City’s black industrial bosom, kissing warm pavement,
sewer-caps like metallic areolas. Think Ms. Schoppel, 5th grade,

Plush emerald sweater, the drip of pearls sliding beneath a
river of flesh, pebbles like freckles, ripples of desire. & Think

A young boy strolling foreign sands, the taste of salt that lingers,
watching the world pass by through his mother’s fingers.

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