At Least


I saw the scar in the mirror
last night after showering.
The bandage finally released
from my skin & I

ran my fingers along
my breast, moving
forward & sideways to inspect
the shape & I thought

of all the pretty women
in magazines, on internet
profiles & in restaurants
like Hooters.

I remembered being 23
fully nude on the stage
at the strip club where
everything was fantasy.

I remembered a man
who once loved me & how
his mouth would move like
a slow rhythm across my

smooth & perky tits &
how perfectly he cupped them
in his hands like they were
the epitome of art.

Looking at the scar I could
see the ugly texture smile
at me. Laugh & say hey girl,
you better keep the lights
 
off from here on out, you
better keep your bra on if
you ever plan to love again.
You better start changing

the way you undress or how
you let a man undress you.
You better be prepared to
explain & say hey, at least

I am not dying. At least there
is still something to kiss,
& I am so accustomed to being
small, that it doesn't shrink me

down much at all. & don't you
think it quite lovely how one
can gather so many scars &
live to tell about them? & then

you can hope he says yes yes
you are beautiful with all your
scars & baggage & the way
you've lived to tell it all

is like rain falling on the limbs
of trees in winter & a fire
burning & weeping ethereal
colors straight into my heart.



* Heather Lenz says “I have work upcoming in Calliope Nerve, Like A Fat Gold Watch and Dope Magazine. I am currently Poetry Editor for First Step Press Online.”