birds in a barrel's mission is to release creative nonfiction into the wild.

40 Days & 40 Writes is its first project.

Speaking Parts

Boobs or brains? Does a girl always have to choose between the two? I could talk about these once big tits, that weren't really so big, but certainly qualified as buxom and had enough va-va-voom, a just short of porn star quality, to make them a weapon in my sexual arsenal. A weapon I launched to bring men to bed and, better, yet, to my kitchen in the morning after they'd been there, coffee in what's always remembered as a sunshine and drowsy post-coital bliss, rife with possibilities. I used them for pleasure, to give it and to take it, greedily, loving mouths on nipples, loving fingers playing across the fullness of what I could only ironically call my bosom.

I loved another kind of mouth there too, the questing mouth of my son toward 3 AM, when we curled in an armchair or just nestled in bed and he drank from me and I murmured to him of all his roads ahead. Here too there were possibilities. The breasts betrayed me though.My own hand, idly drifting while watching t.v. happened upon that hard and curious lump that turned out to be just about as bad as could be imagine, and now one breast is gone and the other has been tucked and trimmed in an attempt to find a plausible match and that bosom of mine is web of scars and it's hard to find my way back to the memory of pleasure.

So maybe I better choose brains. Asset or liability? My brain took the lead and waltzed me through decades of school and professional success and its still the thing my husband says he loves best. But it's tormented me too, cunning restless creature that it is, keeping me from sleep, keeping me from settling in, always asking too many questions. Some women love too much. I think too much, and I have a hard time talking my brain down off a cliff. And once it decided to take a dive. It launched itself hard into the abyss and lay shattered at the bottom. poor, pieced together brain. One doctor tells me it's strong again because it was so fit to begin with. I'm glad it found its feet again. What else would remember those breasts and the story the scars tell?

Curly Girl

I Sing the Body