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like a wounded bird,
all that mattered
was known. After Iraq
his numbness, a
scab around his heart
like where one leg
had been. He was on
air, radio air and I was
waiting for news.
So much blood the
doctors said but no sign
of trouble. She would
be ok for now. I was
slamming back to him,
my hand cramping,
I hadn't known
I'd held on so tight
a cheerleader, never
hot in high school
because each Sadie
Hawkins dance or
Junior Women's
club party meant
having to ask one
boy after another
who turned me down.
Because I was fat,
no beautiful body
like the girl who'd
lose her face when a
car tried to merge
with it. Because I
was Miss Middlebury
High, not for being
popular or my looks
but for winning art
and science contests,
I thought only the
pretty, skinny girls
deserved clothes,
worked for months
on my science project
of the eye as if to say
Look at Me. The pink
pique dress in my
uncle's store seemed
too beautiful for me.
When I fell for one
boy and he dropped
me I lost 40 pounds
and boys in Hillel,
with so few Jewish
girls in town, began
to ask me out. But
tho there were many,
I still see myself as
that shy plump hardly
popular girl in glasses
who turned red when
Mr. Dewey weighed
us in class and boomed
our weight out. He might
as well have had a loud
speaker. I never felt I
had a time to be pretty.
Skinny was supreme.
Now I look at the young
girls in strapless dresses,
their beautiful arms. So
if I buy clothes more
appropriate for a thinner
me than I was, leave my
hair long, in spite of all
who've tried to cut it,
(that only makes me think
of women in Auschwitz,
stripped and shaved) I
think it is to try
to celebrate
Suddenly, I'm as unattached as milk
weed dust. It's not so bad floating
free though I would have liked to
have the body I had when I was 20
though maybe not exactly. I still
thought I was fat but I want that
taut skin, arms I loved to wear sun
dresses in. Well, what is is and it's
not so bad. Not a babe in this dream
I've got men flocking I didn't at 16,
groveling to jerks who refused me,
invited to Women's Club hayrides and
balls, goodbye to waiting on the side
lines, a wall flower, my face bright
rose. In the dream at least I'm
gorgeous, well if not gorgeous,
sexy and especially the one with long
strong legs wants me to care. We
are in a house, not familiar, pillows
spread. I half expect hookah pipes.
There's oriental carpets. I'm in a tie
dyed filmy sarong. Though I've
hated my arms, I feel mysteriously
attractive. I feel on fire, want either of
these men to want to get in my pants.
I don't care if anyone knows it.
It's rare I have time or even care.
Maybe it's the scent of jasmine, the
feel of silk and lace with nothing
between it and my skin. Or the voice
of the tallest one with the thighs,
I couldn't help be drawn to it,
more sexy than any body part,
seduction and lullaby braided into
what I want to lasso me to his kiss
Lyn Lifshin's Another Woman Who Looks Like Me was published by Black Sparrow in 2006 and selected for the 2007 Paterson Award for Literary Excellence. Also out in 2006 was The Licorice Daughter: My Year with Ruffian from Texas Review Press. Lifshin's recent books include Before It's Light (Black Sparrow, 2000), Cold Comfort (Black Sparrow, 1997), In Mirrors (Presa Press), Upstate: An Unfinished Story (Foot Hills) and The Daughter I Don't Have (Plan B Press). Her poems have appeared in most literary and poetry magazines and she is the subject of a film, Lyn Lifshin: Not Made of Glass, from Women Make Movies. Her web site is www.lynlifshin.com.