Poetry is a mirror which makes beautiful that which is distorted.
-Percy Shelley, A Defense of Poetry, 1821
Francesca Bell is a poet, translator and editor. She lives in Northern California where she writes, runs, makes blackberry jam, and wrangles beagles in her spare time.
Blog Post: Maybe TimE
Every couple of years, I strip down to my underthings and let my dermatologist and her two assistants check my entire body for skin cancer. I admit I feel weird and a little chilly, being the only nearly naked person in the room, but I have become basically comfortable in my body and benign toward it. I even have the illusion, before the doctor arrives to examine me, that I am still, well, kind of hot.
Poetry In The Wild
Each month comes the reminder
of the gash God made in me.
I like to think He made it
with one finger, the way an artist
will reach right into a painting
and finish it off.