May Poem – Nudity

nudity is a May poem, a reflection on finding a way to be tiny and comfortable within this big, big world where everyone is alone, yet no one is. 

nudity –  a May Poem

skin is like the rippling shoal of a lake on the run from frost and the sun                                                 
she can't bear to wear winter or not having ducks paddle across her                                                      
face turns cold and blankets the shore glad of the rain. she slipped on                                                     
zero syllables and told no one about the moles in her trenches

her drapes, a bachelor in applied physics, her gloves a string of babies                                                    
her curtains cooking broth at the shelter on Sundays. to slide through                                                    
the traffic i oil up the engine i glide across the low road hearing nothing                                                
but daisies growing on my arms i have somewhere to be someone to

broach i will nestle on someone's chest for a while in the shape of a                                                        
gemstone flower, quartz petals and a green marble ovule i will cling on                                                  
with a safety-pin and make beautiful the way she made my eyes                                                              
glimmer with her lame jokes. the other day a big bear gave me

a share of his honey we were having a beer and salty pretzels
outside where the sun melts stares mid-square but only right there
in the thick of people. proximity is the absence of nudity like when he                                                    
peppers her head or we throw balls and it rains cake on our shoulders

then like always muck and cobwebs turn out diamond floors, fields of                                                    
cotton, buds of bread and butter, slice by slice we toast with nothing but                                              
a warm breeze in between. she can erect her stem and flaunt her pistil,                                                  
her petals basking the tiny filaments of meadows yet to swaddle us.

 

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Written by Anita Alig

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