Something is happening in the picture
The woman looks into the lens of the camera,
a third eye focused on the girl she was before
The slope of her stomach in daisy print

cotton bathing suit defines her predicament
The protruding belly disappears
behind the angled hand,
throbbing breasts contend in silence
Any pain can be buried, any secret

concealed behind a smile.But the arc
light of the camera reveals
Souls burn like lit candles
We are as blind to regret
as the camera is aware of its presence

Do you think this woman is me?
It isn't. Years after her death,
I tell you this: the stomach was emptied
Its decayed contents like sparrow
wings nailed to the rafters, attract only owls

So To Speak: A Feminist Journal of Language & Art