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Mirrors

am I still woman with one breast gone?
hanging around one man too long
legs give into knees I can’t locate
was it my spirit you ate when I cooked you dinner?
I try angles
still the mirror is always square
stare cross-eyed
so sometimes I can see two of me
laughing at myself
crying for no one else

I am looking for the man in me

trying to figure out why that second syllable
was attached to my
womb and

Today my body has no room for visitors, freeloaders or lovers
my frame holds fingerprints from being moved
hanged on nails
displayed on white walls for decoration
I see you looking in me trying to find sanity in vanity
while combing through your hair
I break in pieces just to fuck with you
I break in pieces just to fuck with you
so you will think of me for seven more years
even if you’re not

good looking

Today I pressed my one breast against the glass/cut off one arm/
took off my left foot/bit off my one good bottom lip and
kissed myself the way you did
when I was considered woman
barer of children and water
my blood no longer colors the moon
no sperm will find a name
and I notice how woman it must be
to feel
just like a man

Jessica Care Moore ( Detroit, EE UU, 1971). Poeta, editora y cantante.

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