almost Eve.

the mirror breaks its gaze on the clouded shower curtain. my cold
view places a dewy film on those eerie reflecting eyes.  water
still dripping over the folds of my skin, i relieve the mirror's
disdain with the end of my towel.  again i can see her.


she is naked, like every snapshot caught in the creases of a
dirty magazine: those legs that taught her how to move, that tiny
empty that held baby's first kick, that three dollar and fifty
cent magazine.  naked, another Eve. . .waiting for the serpent to
coil into the black hole of her sin.


reminded of the first cut from mother's hold.  that long snake in
her womb: the doctor's fear strangulation.  now it's a tuck of
flesh at her middle, that place that once sustained her
heartbeat.  perhaps this is where her life began, as a slither in
that warm water, slow trickle into this girl.


W | M | E

©Denise Angela Celeste
September, 1997.