Dialougue With Myself

Woman, pretty woman,
Put on your long lace gown.
Place amethysts around your neck,
On your hair, a floral crown.
Tie on soft leather dancing-shoes,
And if you have the chance,
Jack, or Dick, or Sandy
May invite you to the dance.

The dance ended well after two
When I came home at last.
I then took off my white lace gown,
Jeweled trappings of times past,
And I unlaced those dancing-shoes,
Stepped through the shower door,
And on my breast I found a lump
That was not there before.

Woman, anxious woman,
Put on your hospital gown.
Place this scrub-cap upon your head,
On this hard bed lie down.
The men who gather ’round you
Aren’t in tartans red and blue.
They’re dressed in O.R. scrub suits
For the work they have to do.

I am a troubled woman now
Not sure how I’ll appear
With my silicone prosthesis
and mastectomy brassiere.
And now my hair is falling out.
Daily it’s growing thin.
Not even a silk flower crown
Can cover up bare skin.

Woman, handsome woman,
Put on your gown once more.
Place amethysts around your neck
The way you did before.
Your dark brown hair was streaked with gray.
It’s gone. It’s from the past.
So smile beneath that ash-blond wig
As you emerge at last.
You’re now known as “Survivor”
As you have been before..
Your chest looks absolutely fine.
Don’t worry any more.
You’re more relaxed and happier now.
If you give them the chance,
Jack and Dick and Sandy
Will fight to have that dance.