My hair fell behind me
the saddle scraped my arse
and the air tingled bits people forget to name
like the fold beneath a belly where
I wasn’t young but
I was loved
so some imagine love made them all turn away
lining the streets with polite backs, circles of hair
and some imagine they’d stare
so helpfully lengthen and rearrange my hair
in rococo ringlets, to hide the bits
for which we have many names
as if the point were not that
I was naked
I wasn’t young
I was loved.
No-one turned, or needed to peep, or was struck blind.
The only one who’d mind, who’d see it as shame,
was the one we needed to change.
I’m naked for all of you.
Thanks to NaPoWriMo.net for their early-bird prompt – a self-portrait as a historical / mythical figure. I'm feeling a touch naked about my decision to share my poems as they're written, so this was a lovely way to explore exposing oneself.
See the new NaPoWriMo poems as they pop up, complete with pics of the handwritten drafts, natter to me, and help me with titles for them, via whatever social media you call home:
All my poems on this site are now #FreeForPoets to play with, to write hybrid forms such as glosas, coupling poems, golden shovels, acrostics, centos, and erasures. Full permissions here: #FreeForPoets.