Mirror

by: Cynthia Atkins

I have to be naked,

by that I don't mean

unclothed,

but raw, stripped bare to the filaments and

rafters

My head is a sky-laundromat of folded

clouds,

creases as chiaroscuro.

I need my body to find.

it's nakedness like the maiden in fairytales

getting her garment pinned by two

mourning doves.

My flesh is an eco system, feeding on detail,

it works

to be in mint condition,

to remember

Every flower I picked. Process?

I need to feel

sexy, even in the din and dust.