On Gravity and Breasts

On Gravity and Breasts
by amy t buckley
Sometimes the world spins too fast for me,
then I look up and remember
that we’re really not moving at all (not really).
And my oldest friend is having a baby
(which is more proof of the above).
A boy. She knew it all along,
and they’re easier to travel with, she informs me—
rough and tumble, you know
(she’s afraid she’d warp a girl).
She had a dream last night that her breasts
were spurting water everywhere
and no one could figure out how to shut them off.
She says she’s afraid of her body now—
afraid of her breasts becoming appliances.