SATURDAY POETRY SERIES PRESENTS: ELIZABETH LANGEMAK

Spitting with anger and beauty, a poem, like this one, is almost as brave as the woman, like this one, who writes it.

As It Ought to Be

LangemakPhoto

By Elizabeth Langemak:

A PHOTOGRAPH OF HER SHOWERING

As passionless, burned-out, dusty shells, we dislike love poems . . . As [one of our
editors] says, why not “text me a photograph of her showering”?

I am enclosing, as text, the photo
you ask for. Though my husband

refuses, I make this in secret
and print it black over white. Though

the angles and lighting are tough
to nail down, and the process

makes my whole body a long face
for tears as the spray breaks over

my scalp and rolls down.
Though my right hand withers,

as I rake damp hair into rows.
Though the cheap curtain cleaves

to my thigh, I peel it off like a rind
teased from its fruit in one strip.

You thought I was dusty, a shell.
You said I was burned out,

but now my skin is slapping and slick,
the camera demanding…

View original post 311 more words

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