This is for Elsa, also known as Liz, br an ample-bosomed gospel singer: five br discrete malignancies in one full breast. br This is for auburn Jacqueline, who is br celebrating fifty years alive, br one since she finished chemotherapy. br with fireworks on the fifteenth of July. br This is for June, whose words are lean and mean br as she is, elucidating our protest. br This is for Lucille, who shines a wide br beam for us with her dark cadences. br This is for long-limbed Maxine, astride br a horse like conscience. This is for Aline br who taught her lover how to caress the scar. br This is for Eve, who thought of AZT br while hopeful poisons pumped into a vein. br This is for Nanette in the Midwest. br This is for Alicia, shaking back dark hair, br dancing one-breasted with the Sabbath bride. br This is for Judy on a mountainside, br plunging her gloved hands in a glistening hive. br Hilda, Patricia, Gaylord, Emilienne, br Tania, Eunice: this is for everyone br who marks the distance on a calendar br from what's less likely each year to "recur." br Our saved-for-now lives are life sentences br -- which we prefer to the alternative.