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Without language to describe them, memories linger in the limbo of vaguely recollected dreams, impressions left on the psyche like sketches for an under-painting, upon which more distinctive layers obscure their founding ghosts. Nana, lacking traditional parentage, nonetheless can retrieve nurturing recollections. Contrary to what one might expect from a cast-off commodity, her infancy proved a phase of unremitting care, a succession of nipples comprising her first reminiscences:

  • the flush one, barely protuberant from its prepossessing mound, milk like liquid silk, luxuriant and plentiful;

  • the pert one, almost rubbery in its teenage-toned resilience, stingy at the start, more generous once primed;

  • the bulbous one, aromatic, most conspicuous for its veins, a pillow once its outsized lobe was sapped;

  • and lastly Nana’s favourite, quite the mouthful was its pucker, faintly purplish, shaped like a pacifier, HUGE, its yield a steady ebb, its spongy pores secreting an infusion of bittersweet ambrosia;

her daily, nightly feedings thus were apportioned via shifts, her earliest engrams fostered by a bevy of accommodating wet-nurses.

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