Not in Playboy or Hustler,
not in my ex’s bed.
Instead, the colored page
I ripped out from my mother’s issue
of National Geographic:
a young woman
as dark as me, hair also black,
about my build,
around my height.
Naked except for silver bracelets,
a beaded necklace, a belt.
The Amazon for backdrop, splashy
white around her feet.
Emotions bare—surprised,
excited, then as ashamed
as Adam post-apple,
I crumpled the young woman
with guilty hands, hid
her in the bottom of the trash.
Shame on me for throwing her away.
Shame on the shame
taught to me, still clinging tight
as Eve’s figs leaves.
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POETRY: Issue 35