This is a poem with a naked girl.
She's my daughter, 21 months old,
standing on the vanity counter
of the ladies' room in church.
She's looking at her reflection
in the counter-to-ceiling mirror.
Mommy was changing her diaper,
putting on pajamas, but she stood up.
Now her hands rest on her round belly
on either side of her navel,
still sticking out like a little knot.
I'm standing behind her, watching
as she clearly sees herself, sees
her body. How do I say it?
It's a naked girl looking at herself
in the mirror. I want to see her
as she sees herself, at that moment,
a wondrous thing, a bird, a latch
that opens, water that spills out
from a spigot, how it catches the light
how it's warm to the touch, and,
with soap, makes your hands clean.
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