There Was No Cure -- Nohubo Remedio

By Barbara Newmark

The curve is first an image. Curve
As word, a drawing
A triumph. To cover

The curve of earth: a donkey, my breast
In all its elusive usefulness; a sketch
Produces the nipple as it looks. Non-

Existent. What I am saying is
You are beautiful, every one of you. The shame
In finding words to expand your curves
And diminish my own. My hips I

Clutch onto thigh and its interior. Spit
Of small flashback, we see
With no view. Asymmetry
Resisting bodies.

To be rid of history, of good ropes, tweezers
And teeth. To get at the hurting, it feels right.
The crowding.