Landscape (poem)

When I stand naked, bare, in front of the mirror

I feel as if I am looking upon an alien form. 

I do not recognize the home my soul has taken;

A Landscape of pale olive blandness, 

a desert of skin over meat and bone. 

I look upon soft flesh, damp from southerner humidity,

full, small breasts hang unevenly like overly ripe apples, 

or pears softened in the summer sun. 

I stare in disappointment, but can't help but find pleasure

in the small pink dogwood buds that sit on the edges. 

My swollen belly protrudes farther than my comfort, 

yet the jiggle reminds me of watching

plump squirrels as they lounge lazily on the magnolia branch. 

I cup my hands around my navel, as I would to gather soil

in the garden to plant a new seed, new life. 

I want to turn away from the form before me,

but my eyes follow the curves and bends

as if caught in the current of a mountain stream. 

I stood in awe watching the water once, 

now that sense of gratitude floods my senses.  

My legs, marked like that of tree bark, 

roots shooting from my hips, down my thighs -   

The curvature of my form, the humid cave

covered by soft and supple moss,

the hair on my body as natural as the grass in the earth. 

When I stand naked, bare, in front of the mirror

I feel as if I am looking upon an alien form. 

While I do not recognize the home my soul has taken,

I see a form made up of natural beauty, wonder, 

born to the south, I have made my home in the landscape.