Contemplating Curves

I lie on my side,
an angled arm props
my head, while the rest
of my body trails
along a line.

Without a look, I can
feel the arches climb
into the air.
Without winging my right
arm behind, so its palm
rests around my hip,
I know the bone strains
against thinness of skin.
And the precipice of waist and hip
pulls my thoughts in,
even though my elbow
only skims the ridge.

In my mind the line of my side
moves in slow arcs
like a snake,
or merely like a woman's shape.

There was a time when I wanted
to whittle away the bone
of hips I knew grew large.
I wanted to carve
until I didn't curve.

Now I lie in my bed
and welcome the crescent line
where breast meets ribs
and the gentle slope from hip along thigh.
With my mind, I move down
the dips and rises,
like a man with his eyes,
like a child nestling the flesh,
and am charmed by my shape.

A. Popp
1995

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