She would be perfect
if she had arms
Her waist cinched
even without a belt
her legs crossed just so
and though her breasts are full
she has no nipples
anyone who notices that it’s colder
inside the store than outside
on the street where
another woman watches
or maybe it only looks like she watches.
a little thicker around the waist
with glasses framing her small black eyes
Still someone else watches
behind the lens
recording the envy
that tightens the corners
of their smiles.
This poem is from an as of yet unpublished chapbook, titled On Seeing, responding to Elliott Erwitt’s photographs.
Lori Gravley writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. She earned her MFA from the University of Texas at El Paso. She has published poems in a variety of journals, recently including I-70 Review, Burningword, and Ekphrasis. She travels the world for her work as a USAID consultant, but her home is in Yellow Springs, Ohio. You can hear her read her own work and others' on Conrad's Corner and listen to her interviews with poets at WYSO Public Radio (www.wyso.org).
The Ekphrastic Review
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