Finding a No

Perhaps there is a No between my shoulder blades
I have separated my toes and looked behind my ears already

I am afraid to dig, to cut my body open and root around
Kept it superficial for sanity's sake

There could be a No tucked into a lung, though
or adjacent to the appendix

It may just be a matter of searching long enough and hard enough-
wanting a No badly enough to manifest its existence inside

My skin is definitely saying Yes-
as are my lips
and hips and hair and hands

Despite my best efforts
my body is screaming affirmation

I don't have the stomach to look inside my heart just yet
It has never lied, nor hidden anything from me

If I slice open my sternum, I will know for certain
and today, I am not ready for that truth

Needless to say
all this unfolding is wildly inconvenient

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

ChocolateSushiCouture- Photo shoot, Spring 2009

Image
I never thought that on a rainy spring day I would be in a studio in downtown Chicago with a cute little assistant shyly rubbing bronzer into my legs. He was so shy, in fact, that he couldn't continue up to my thighs. (A fact made obvious later when my skirt hiked up and the skin was pale enough to blind Helen Keller.) Nor did I think that I'd have an exuberant stylist (see below) with his hands up said skirt, and down my shirt as well. ("Don't worry honey, this means nothing to me.") Ah, it's a good life I discovered just a scant few months ago. My friend, plus-size model Teslyn Butler , who I met at a commercial shoot, recommended me to a local designer named Niehla Ollie who was in dire straights for a Caucasian, curvy model. After sending a few snapshots through email, Niehla agreed to use me for a small photo shoot. I was folded into an enthusiastic embrace in her apartment and immediately put into make-up while I learned the basic ins-and-outs of plus
Read more

Oblivion

Orgasms splinter me Gasping darkness tilts into oblivion I am a thousand different breaths on the other side The distance mounts between us I cannot tell you that making love is suicide I don't want to die
Read more

Never at the Same Train Stop

Riding on the "L" from Evanston, way up on the northside and at the end of the Purple Line, (For non-Chicagoans, it's about as far away from my house as you can get.) my hip is throbbing from my second round with circus class and my head is spinning from therapy. As I get closer to the southside I can feel some of the tension leaking away and I know that soon I will be home; I can put ice on my ass and stomp around in frustration. (Well, limp around animatedly in frustration, anyway.) I'm sunk into my hoodie and pretending I'm the only one on the train when a gaggle of teenage girls sit in my vicinity. I keep my eyes averted but tune my ears in, prepared to be irritated/entertained by their conversation. Their voices take on the important edge of people who are convinced they should be listened to, and lets face it, who doesn't love hearing teenagers fling their hormones at each other? One girl in particular stands out to me because she's wearing a strip
Read more