are who I
The second toe of my left foot.
This little piggy…
crashed with a dining room chair
when I was six.
It still protrudes crookedly from in between its
more disciplined cousins.
I am nine parts straight.
The tenth gives me an air
The neck is also
who I am.
Mother often stares at it in awe.
…how regal and swan-like your neck is!
(Mother’s is short and thick. She is a
gigantic tree, smiling crown perched atop a wide trunk.
No storm could uproot her.)
Whose daughter am I, then?
My own neck barely keeps my head
from toppling (face-first)
into the gutter.
Sweat condenses in its creases,
in the heat.
Sweat, too, is part of me.
One I keep losing, and recreating,
all on my own.
in the summer.
I asked my Lover,
What’s your favorite part?
Is it my collar bone (dogs like to gnaw)
or my breasts (children love being suckled),
perhaps my hands and fingers
(I can write the alphabet on more than just paper,
hold more than a pen).
It’s your inner bits, those that can’t be seen.
But I am written all over my body,
if you look closely enough.
My parts are the sum of me.
The neck is why I lost my head to him.
The second toe of my left foot is why I will
Leave him behind.
// Note: this was supposed to be formatted differently, but I’m technologically-challenged on my best day, and it’s 40°C outside – too hot to start learning about HTML or whatever the heck it is that’s currently preventing me from making the text appear on the blog as it does in the editor. Hopefully, you all are having better luck with the weather, or are at least somewhere where you can dip your feet into the sea! //