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Poetry by Amanda Porter 

Amanda is a student at the University of Binghamton in New York.

 

 

 

© 2004  Amanda Porter

 

 

 

Reflection

 

There is something about

being a woman

that captures

my senses.

 

I stand

in front of a mirror,

nakedó

and wish someone

would think me

a goddess

and sketch my body

on paper

as plain as my skin,

so that thousands

can see me, exposed

in the finest

of galleries.

 

I follow the soft light

from across the room,

I fix my eyes

on my tear-drop

breasts,

flowing into my

collarbone,

elegant neck and chin,

poisedó

examining my

desires through

my pale skin

from the reflection

in a dirty mirror.

 

 

 

Blue Lady

for my mother

 

I see you crying, woman;

knees pulled in to cover

what's left of modesty

 

your hair of chestnut

dipped in sunlight, draped

to dry over your shoulders

 

wrapped around your

blue breasts

bathed in tears.

 

You arch your back

as a bridge for me

to walk on.

 

You are unable to see

yourself behind blue

hands held before your eyes,

 

you are afraid of what

I might say if I

could see them.

 

I would notice how they glow

as blue fire blazes upward

as if to return home.

 

 

 

After School

 

I was five,

or maybe six,

only allowed to ride

my bike in the

allotted time

before dinner

and after I

arranged my

times tables,

knit together

like battle plans,

and my spelling

words were in

perfect script,

resembling

the curves in

telephone cords.

 

I could ride 

only in front

of my house,

in the spectrum

visible from the

living room window.

I couldn't cross

into the other

neighborhood,

over the hill

divided with

sidewalk chalk,

curved downward,

spilling into

another world,

another level of

existence I could

only dream about

from the

vicinity of my

mailbox.

 

Today, though,

after I scribbled

my last sentence,

I would taste

the air of this

uncovered

promise land,

I would indulge

on its sweetness,

its bubble gum

flavor, the wind

in my hair,

combing through

lies, I would

only go to the

corner and backó

 

I fell before I

reached the bottom

of the hill.

 



 

All work is copyrighted property of Amanda Porter.

 

 

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