Through I see myself grey-faced like a statue
of a maritime saint, any grimness is betrayed
by the laxity of my pushed-up dress
in the face of the stalwart sea.
Pink and fleshy,
I shuttle my ankles closed together,
a skip-and-a-jump motion
that makes all my halfhearted attempts
at modesty even more childlike;
by myself, beside myself,
alone on the waterfront
I am tactile and sensory
for the first time/ &
to keep my legs closed
and folded
on such a beautiful day
on this old pier
in the kissing breeze
will always be a halfhearted game
of hopscotch
with my impish and reluctant self.
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