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portrait in a yellow sundress by =bekkia:iconbekkia:





self portrait in a yellow sundress

triangle toes:
my smallest toes curve inward
from years of ballet slippers
and curling them under
looking at the ground
trying to talk to you through
the shadows of my eyelashes
virgin and untouched by mascara

and hollows of knees:
show strain in concave soft places
hidden against white wicker chairs
or asphalt when its cool enough to touch
and not get bitten
bent in envy of my kneecaps
wanting to be the sister in the sun
I always knew
they were more beautiful

Achilles tendons:
always took the tension of tapping feet
and put it to use for thin ankles
torn skin by sandals and picnic benches
but not deep enough to fall
you never held me here
and dipped me into the brine
you let my face stay above the ocean instead

cellulite dimples:
are where a boy loved me once
those delicate things once called hips
now more like haunches
thin-skinned and scared
at times
or brave like ruddy tribal boys
only in the summer

pelvic bones:
are shaped like moths
or bones for birthing children
depending on your outlook
and how much so many girls
want these bones to peek through their skin
I’ll keep mine as they are,
with the rest of me
made of stained checker table cloths
and skin pigments all the same

femurs:
are the longest bones
long like hand-woven barbed-wire fences
or two westbound trains
stags antlers or umbrellas for two
and twice as likely to break if you’re careful
but i'm never so careful

navel:
we were once connected
like a Victorian diver to the boat
and your womb was the Banda archipelago
where I never found the nutmeg
or else it was Bahia Honda
and I was forever
{for 8 months and 17 days}
looking for something I’d never find

last rib:
this is what we’re made of
that hiding rib that nips us in at the waist
like proper cosmopolitan girls
someday I’ll meet a man who’s missing one for me
like Lamar for Louise
and wonder if he passed down
that thirteenth rib

backbone architecture:
roman aqueducts under paper-mâché
making a replica like a mask
slouching, you count my vertebrae
and tell me to eat more
or sit up straight
like the proper victorians you pretend we are
i place the forks in descending order out from the plate
and wait for him to pull out my chair
we are hypocrites
glove-tipped fingers together
we are women
with white lace
what's the difference?

nipples:
peep through blouses only on occasion
only for a reason                  
only as a means
oh no,
I’m thinking about lipstick or how cold it is in here
but really
I’ll tell Ken to buy that plot of land
it’s really not all swamp
and my words and glances were
much more humid than they seemed
or tasted
distilled with grapes

collar bones:
are frames for cameos
pink cameos with ivory silhouettes
or antlers of stags again carved with more finesse
or a finer chisel enough to frame a face
with so many misgivings
that these clavicles shy away from the neck
and the heirlooms pearls you string around it

jaw line:
draws words from my chin
after they bow at my lower lip
or up further at the cupid’s bow, I should say
with frown lines and laugh lines
and how it’s hard to tell the difference after so many expressions
that night walking with him downtown
when the rain lingered on the pavement and the streetlights
and he made me walk under the canvasses
so the rainwater wouldn’t drip in my hair
and he kissed me on the new skin just below my ear
those frown lines that day were yours
I learned them soon
and learned from them

widow’s peak:
the one thing we still share
my hair won’t turn grey at the peak and flow outward
from loss of love or loved ones or self
or the day you made my father a widower in spirit
and decided not to love him
but never gave your wedding band back.
©2009 =bekkia
:iconbekkia:

Author's Comments

this is probably the longest poem i have ever written!

[edit] reverted the spacing to the original, without all the weirdness. i may actually punctuate, too, at some point, but i haven't decided.


oh, if you want to critique, please do, but give me suggestions as well :heart:

Critiques


:iconcyantre:
This may be a long poem, but it's damn good. The imagery is fantastic, and the break-down of each part of the poem preceded by a different part of the body was a fantastic idea. I love how you even manage to make those different parts of the body into short poetic verse on there own.

The image preceding this piece isn't even necessary because the words stand so strong on their own.

Though the poem is mostly all lower-case, I noticed a few inconsitances on the words you did capitalize. In one verse you capitalize "Victorian", but later on keep "victorians" in lower-case. If you are going to capitalize Victorian, you should probable do the same with "roman" as well. You could also change "paper mache" to "paper-mâché" if you were so inclined.

Thanks so much for sharing this piece, it was a pleasure to read. Keep up the superb work!
The Artist thought this was FAIR
12 out of 12 deviants thought this was fair.

:iconmahi-fish:
Note: Many of the things I pointed out no longer apply. I've moved this critique to the appropriate place mostly as history, but also on the off chance that someone will see it and feel the need to argue with me. Arbitrary stars are based on my original impressions, not the current version so that it will match the critique. What can I say, I'm fiesty fish?


Great piece that you've got here. My comments are all very minor. I'll give just a tiny bit of technical (opinion) input, and then I'll talk about content.

I'm not a fan of the erratic line formatting. Tastes on this vary greatly, I'm just extremely old fashioned in my choices. I'm not suggesting to change it per se, just bear in mind that occasionally readers are turned off by it. If it wasn't your poem, I wouldn't have stayed.

However! With that said, you've made excellent use of line breaks for pacing. I know you probably still think that they are arbitrary, but I assure you that no line break is ever meaningless. This piece proves to me that you don't really break your lines haphazardly, just intuitively. Great job on that front.

I found myself a little confused with the scattered pronouns. The first person pronoun was expected. The poem has the word 'self' in the title, so that one is expected. The various 'hims' and 'hers' that appear aren't distracting. The antecedent is generally easy to find or to divine. I'm even cool with the inclusive 'we' because it may or may not include me. The one that I had a little bit of trouble was the second person 'you'.

The stale old crusty poetry textbooks say never to use the second person in a poem. I don't agree with that sentiment. I think that there are times it works brilliantly. It can serve to draw your reader in, or to address directly a subject you would never have the ability (or the courage) to say the things in the poem that need to be said to directly. In this case I found myself a bit confused about when you were addressing me, the funky looking fish guy reading the poem, and when you were addressing the unavailable subject. Sometimes it felt like the you was inviting me in, and other times it felt like it was shutting me out and addressing an absent mother. You then seem to address the same mother in the third person. Perhaps I missed something or am simply confused.


Now, that's the hard part. Finding things to fix with a poem this deeply personal and sweet almost feels wrong, so I hope I haven't overstepped. You manage to pull off a personal portrait in a way that is very difficult to do. The body part layout would have entirely flopped if not for your wonderful imagery. Each piece of anatomy you named off was then tied to a larger picture of you, which is exactly what a portrait needs to do. You might have subconsciously linked some of these, or it may have been done intentionally. Look at the first and the third: toes/eyelashes achilles tendon/face. Those relations of the part to the whole are what makes your body part layout work. Well done.

I also enjoy how you don't present a one sided picture of yourself. You've had some beautiful days. You've had some pretty crummy days. People have loved you. People have made you feel unloved. It's very easy to either whitewash a life or to grey wash it. You've walked the line very elegantly with your ballerina toes.


All in all, I'd say this is an excellent piece. I enjoy the vivid imagery and the bitter-sweet emotions you evoke so much that I refuse to let the things I found distracting detract from my enjoyment. I know you probably weren't exactly expecting a response this long, and that it was completely unsolicited, but I hope that it helps in some way.

Nothing but love,
Tyrannosaurus
The Artist thought this was FAIR
13 out of 14 deviants thought this was fair.

Thank you for your Critique

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:iconlilyphillips:
this is simply beautiful :] I adore this :iconiloveyouplz:

--
~If I stop writing, I'll stop breathing, because my hand is connected to my lungs

~In the words of KariAsunada, I am, Lemon Lily Pie! Fear me! :evillaugh: For I am Lemony and Lilylicious

~A member of the ~Writers-Guild-DA
:iconspiritfingers:
Stop giving me goosebumps. T-T

--
Those of us without rhythm have far too much on our minds.
:iconroseatknight:
"last rib:
this is what we’re made of
that hiding rib that nips us in at the waist
like proper cosmopolitan girls
someday I’ll meet a man who’s missing one for me
like Lamar for Louise
and wonder if he passed down
that thirteenth rib"-
This is my favorite part. And I am amazed at how how describe thes intimate parts. Brava! I love this! You are my new favorite poet!

--
[link].
:iconmahi-fish:
(Bek- is there anything at all you can do about the font? I want so badly to read this, but it is literally hurting my eyes trying) :(

--
"I don't feel that I need to explain my art to you, Warren."
-A.J. Empire Records
:iconkneelingglory:
Wow. That's the first word that comes to mind. I love self-portrait pieces, and this one is incredibly unique. I liked the navel section best. :+fav:

--
*DailyLitDeviations | *Critique-It | =TheContestClub | *DailyDeviants

Not For Sale: Fighting Human Slavery
:iconmahi-fish:
:O Can you help the noob find said button?

--
"I don't feel that I need to explain my art to you, Warren."
-A.J. Empire Records
:iconmahi-fish:
:hug:

--
"I don't feel that I need to explain my art to you, Warren."
-A.J. Empire Records
:iconmahi-fish:
Great piece that you've got here. My comments are all very minor. I'll give just a tiny bit of technical (opinion) input, and then I'll talk about content.

I'm not a fan of the erratic line formatting. Tastes on this vary greatly, I'm just extremely old fashioned in my choices. I'm not suggesting to change it per se, just bear in mind that occasionally readers are turned off by it. If it wasn't your poem, I wouldn't have stayed.

However! With that said, you've made excellent use of line breaks for pacing. I know you probably still think that they are arbitrary, but I assure you that no line break is ever meaningless. This piece proves to me that you don't really break your lines haphazardly, just intuitively. Great job on that front.

I found myself a little confused with the scattered pronouns. The first person pronoun was expected. The poem has the word 'self' in the title, so that one is expected. The various 'hims' and 'hers' that appear aren't distracting. The antecedent is generally easy to find or to divine. I'm even cool with the inclusive 'we' because it may or may not include me. The one that I had a little bit of trouble was the second person 'you'.

The stale old crusty poetry textbooks say never to use the second person in a poem. I don't agree with that sentiment. I think that there are times it works brilliantly. It can serve to draw your reader in, or to address directly a subject you would never have the ability (or the courage) to say the things in the poem that need to be said to directly. In this case I found myself a bit confused about when you were addressing me, the funky looking fish guy reading the poem, and when you were addressing the unavailable subject. Sometimes it felt like the you was inviting me in, and other times it felt like it was shutting me out and addressing an absent mother. You then seem to address the same mother in the third person. Perhaps I missed something or am simply confused.


Now, that's the hard part. Finding things to fix with a poem this deeply personal and sweet almost feels wrong, so I hope I haven't overstepped. You manage to pull off a personal portrait in a way that is very difficult to do. The body part layout would have entirely flopped if not for your wonderful imagery. Each piece of anatomy you named off was then tied to a larger picture of you, which is exactly what a portrait needs to do. You might have subconsciously linked some of these, or it may have been done intentionally. Look at the first and the third: toes/eyelashes achilles tendon/face. Those relations of the part to the whole are what makes your body part layout work. Well done.

I also enjoy how you don't present a one sided picture of yourself. You've had some beautiful days. You've had some pretty crummy days. People have loved you. People have made you feel unloved. It's very easy to either whitewash a life or to grey wash it. You've walked the line very elegantly with your ballerina toes.


All in all, I'd say this is an excellent piece. I enjoy the vivid imagery and the bitter-sweet emotions you evoke so much that I refuse to let the things I found distracting detract from my enjoyment. I know you probably weren't exactly expecting a response this long, and that it was completely unsolicited, but I hope that it helps in some way.

Nothing but love,
Tyrannosaurus

I really

--
"I don't feel that I need to explain my art to you, Warren."
-A.J. Empire Records

Details

July 6
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4.1 MB
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