to look at. to stitch and pull into
all the beautiful shapes he can imagine.
he tells me I am azure. I am organized
and glowing. taking up so much space
with my skin and limbs. he must be
an enthusiast of the female body. he must
know the tightness of metal on my back.
he breathes near me and says what a struggle
your body must be and his words are liquid steel.
slippery as beetles. the bluffs on the north edge
of the town are black and jagged. the walleye
swarm in the deep clear water. this is the biggest
lake. the largest sea of ice. it is an excellent
customer of space. of taking ships and people
and trees and roads and swallowing them whole.
I want to tell the man than no one has touched me for three years.
maybe this is a lie. maybe this is the struggle he speaks of. maybe
he looks at my neck like lake superior looks at boats made of wood
and men. I know I am obvious. I know I am not small or easy to throw
from a dock.
to look at.
azure and organized.
a beetle, struggling.
swarm of space
a lie. a struggle,
again. my neck,
I am not