WORDS
sometimes the woman in the mirror and I do not agree
i see a skeletal blackness, burnt,
its ripeness drying unexplored
there is a mouth, a lip, some hair, a curved waist,
a spine falling in on itself
sometimes an errant strand that irritates her nose
a freckle or two
some hair
all haphazardly arranged like puzzle pieces waiting to be put together
by a hand
sometimes
i see only patches, darkness, tears knotted and lumped, a hidden scar or two
and a whole lot of shyness
waiting to be torn away.
she speaks differently
she says
sometimes
when you come close, fluttering your lips,
i see the pink of your onion skin flaked like the mosaic on a tomb
when you turn, I see the slope of your belly spreading and curving sharply to the arch in your waist,
wrapped around your folds, meeting the softness of your hair tumbling down your back
when you try to be taller, spreading your wings, standing on tiptoes and inhaling the sky, I see the stem of your legs, rising and falling, like a bird in flight
sometimes, she says, I look in the brown pools flamed by black lashes and see a flash
that travels down your body, sparkling you in flames, filling you with fire, singing through your mouth
sometimes, the woman in the mirror and I, we reach out to each other, put our palms
up against our skins.
Her mouth curves around the words “-.– — ..- .- .-. . -… . .- ..- – .. ..-. ..- .-..”
the shape fitting the shapes, forming, tasting a dollop of would-be truth on her tongue
love
grab your end of the mirror
i’ll grab mine
we’ll meet somewhere in the middle
ART
This poem came from a very personal place and was partly inspired by the kickass Alix’s doodles about my post, “The Fat Goddess“. Alix created this beautiful artwork as well.
