Perspective

 Julie Benesh

Every summer my middle-aged mother
would sunbathe in the yard of our cabin 
surrounded by a forest preserve on the Cedar
River. One hundred yards away, passenger

trains would streak across the bridge 
up the hill high above our heads, 
and she would wave, childlike,
as the windows whistled past,

a make-believe ambassadress,
a hostess greeting fleeting guests.
Mom, you’re topless, I’d protest
starting around age nine, I’d guess,

and she would say, equally shocked
as I: too far away kiddo, they can’t see a thing, 
and I accepted, relieved to have an explanation, 
until it occurred to me the relative size 

of her delicate hands and killer breasts, 
respective giddy pairs, each waving. Still 
later I experienced my own need 
to divest of certain formalities; invest

in the pride of private property, 
hard won and of mutual nurture.
Eventually, I realized her point,
only after the dismantled bridge 

left only pylons, and her killer breasts 
finally killed her:, those abandoned trains, 
empty eyes time-blinded now, had, in their prime,
passed irreversible, as if unstoppable, invincible.

Julie Benesh is author of the poetry collection INITIAL CONDITIONS and the poetry chapbook ABOUT TIME. She has been published in Tin House, Another Chicago Magazine, Florida Review, and many other places, earned an MFA from Warren Wilson College, and received an Illinois Arts Council Grant. She teaches writing craft workshops at the Newberry Library. She holds a PhD in human and organizational systems. Read more at juliebenesh.com.