nudes
the art of folding a body into a
shower fall of exposed vertebras
is a delicate procedure
like stacking pieces of dried wood
onto arms, feeling the rough
bark of the skin against skin.
a rosary hangs overhead like a
flash of light bursting through
a darkened church, sparking the
rows of pew benches into a solitary
length. my hands lift and I am exposed
and sealed into duplicates of my
body, nesting dolls pressing inwards
on each other.
Rachel Small writes in Ottawa. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in magazines, including ottawater, many gendered mothers, The Hellbore, The Shore, and other places. She was the recipient of honourable mention for the John Newlove Poetry Award for her poem "garbage moon and feminist day". You can find her on twitter @rahel_taller.
Comments