I didn’t think Katrina
As published on Ink In Thirds.
I found myself lopsided on Longwood Avenue today –
one breast sinking
down farther than the other. Just like
New Orleans – in need of
a raise in elevation. I didn’t think
Cancer. Like I didn’t think
understanding why any fur-trading Frenchman
a city below sea level.
I didn’t think.
As beads of gel pooled
in the wrinkles of my nipple. “This may feel
a little cool. Just relax,” a stranger said, her hand
caressing my left
fatty tissue. Cut it off! Most
neighborhoods downstream of Lake
Ponchartrain and Borguen lose elevation at nearly
half an inch per year.
It isn’t natural. It isn’t
Supported by underwire. You start to feel the difference.
The metal digging into
your engorged skin. The cleavage pouring out
of the undersized cup. And you start to wonder
was the left side growing or the right
getting smaller. Smaller than New Orleans before
Hurricane Katrina, smaller than
the NOLA that a brave few chose
to rebuild. As home.
“We have options.” To recreate
the structures that we know as self. Take from
the thigh or choose plastic. While another neighborhood, the Upper
9th Ward is losing
just over one inch per year.
As a little girl, I always wanted
to fill a B cup in slender frame. From my
A dress. I always wanted
to build a city –
under echoes of a plastic ultrasound wand. I choose
Mardis Gras beads and the A
cup – familiar – silicone form.
© 2017 Mirissa D. Price: A Dental Student, A Writer, A Journey to Share.