Identity is carved out in the territory
of women’s bodies.
It gives us whiplash.
My bare ankle is obscene in Ramallah,
my covered thigh is licentious in Bnai Brak.
Take a second look
my body mostly bared in a bikini
is a song of praise for the creator
of that flawed body, who for now, each moment,
with compassion still continues to sustain me.
And the sun that gently brushes my bared shoulders
is my birthright
and a gift.
(catching up on some old stuff I’ve written and not posted)