Mother’s breasts are now darkened

moons. On the cover of her book an Ama diver

smiles, naked, rope tied at the waist, bikini knotted

at fleshy hips.

A doctor plucked my mother’s breasts

and left empty pockets.

Knives sliced open black-lipped Japanese

Akoyas to steal the pearls. 90 to 120 times per day,

Ama Divers filled lungs with 3 minutes of breath,

swam down 22 meters, suffered the bends,

vomited days after oysters were cracked,

shells fanned, meat pressed

flat with fingertips. My mother

wants to wear princess strands looped

atop her skin and breasts. The pearls:

halos of blistering nacre.