Eve Packer
phases/stages: Cycles of the Moon
phase 1: new
overheard:
she’s sweet too bad she isn’t prettier
phase 2: waxing crescent: the weapons
h.s. sophomore:
i remember thinking as i look
in the orchard street store mirror
to buy my first fitted bathing suit
those legs are weapons
college sophomore:
i remember thinking as i look
in the summer camp mirror:
that face is worth a kings ransom
i remember thinking this can’t be, is not
the me who is me
semi-phase 2: first quarter
post-grad back in the u.s.a.:
i am wearing my blue & white polka- dot bikini:
and meet my acting partner, husband-to-be-
at brighton beach
phase 3: waxing gibbous: i am pregnant
i remember thinking how simple:
all i need to throw on is
my blue denim loose fitting tent jumper
and change of t-shirt
i remember i am not sad, worried, anxious,
down-in-the-depths –am floating floating in that glow-glow haze
the women on the subway say: its a boy
2.
phase 4: full: i give birth
its a boy
i love being a mom
love being a mom
start swimming
(easier to find a babysitter)
phase 5: waning gibbous
we get divorced
i get a regular job
my son takes swim lessons
i swim more
phase 6: third quarter
i lose my period
noone in the medical profession takes too much note
i get big C–right breast radical mastectomy
my son’s first day in high school:
coming out of anesthesia: i say:
did you do yr homework
my son saves me:
he is there, here, present
he also picks up the laundry
phase 7:
i start to really write
as a friend says: now you have a subject
i get a silicone implant
i get a very unsuitable boyfriend
who lives with us
and i am a little crazy
phase 8:
lose that boyfriend
have other boyfriends
my son is in college, then
into the grown world
phase 9: waning crescent
i am a mother-in-law
i am a grandmother
my grandkids learn to swim
i am nana– love it
phase 10:
silicone implants get capsular contractures
(big word for: hard as a tennis ball, unhealthy)
need replacement:
get, over time, three
wait too long to replace the 3rd
phase 11:
the surgeon cannot replace
the 3rd implant. skin too thin.
(what a metaphor)
i am back to a left breast
and a right-side diagonal chest scar.
i am much older
we all go to the beach
i swim–keep swimming,
and when possible–
swim twice a day
i try not to consider the brick wall
wed., 7.5.23: 9:04 pm/ sat., 7.9.23: 1:55 pm
Eve Packer: Bronx-born, poet/performer: NYSCA, NYFA, Jerome Fndation, & other awards. 4 books, skulls head samba; playland poems 1994-2004; new nails (2011) (Fly By Night Press), & no mask no talk (2022) (autonomedia), published widely, including MER, Tribes, Long Shot, Court Green, Columbia Poetry Review, several poetry/jazz CD’s. mom grandmom, teaches at WCC, lives downtown, swims daily.