VI. Immutably Immobile
Sorrowful Nude
It is as though he
has turned my lids to stone
turned my eyes to stone
turned to stone my every curve
painted my eyes closed.
He has not given me my hands,
my mouth – hard, bitter fruit
Not only this morning was I hoping for a bit of light
Not only this morning was I dreaming of washing my hair
I want to shut my speechless mouth
slide my tongue over my teeth
scrape my teeth across my tongue
bite through
I want to open
want to open my eyes
stare down the sun;
choose blindness for myself