Brigitte Goetze

This is the great betrayal.
She pulled another one
from her belly: red and wrinkled,
tiny with a magic
more powerful than anything
you can conjure.
Before your disbelieving eyes,
she offers her breast to that one.
All you got is toast,
buttered and covered with cherry jelly.
“You are old enough
to feed yourself,” she said.
Hungry, you bite and chew,
bite and chew,
sensing that soon
you will need
to bake your own bread,
grow your own grain.