Nude Model
Mary Crow
Sun in the studio—
my charcoals
finger his flesh,
ladder of his body,
while his eyes,
stenciled on,
try to erase me.
So strenuous this asking
who are you?
Which one of us dares
slam the door
in the other’s face?
I’m ready to break
all the windows
so I can breathe.
The afternoon’s a map
where I can’t find
his hiding place
somewhere beyond
the cross hatch of hairs
down his belly
or the sweet
fragrant idolatry
in its black star.
Mary Crow
Posted over on Cyber Road
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