Out of the corner of my eye

I still remember it with wonder, the sight of him naked, 

the sight of him impressive and appalling-- 
I had never laid eyes on a bare-skinned man
(but had imagined how men might look, 
had turned over images in my head,
ruminated about the angles beyond 
the pelvis), and now here lies such a beast in person. 
In the hallway, in the early light and hush of our house, 
(I am the only one up), when out of the corner of my eye, 
I see my parents' bedroom door ajar
and there in all his raw vitality lays my father, his bulk 
and scale so marvelous: 
a buttocks in full view, a heft of thigh 
roofed in tangled hair--and, terrifyingly--
that ripened kiwi dangling.  
My parents lay side to side, his face in fields 
of her hair, his arm a bridge from his 
breathtaking flesh to hers, 
his thigh a mountain along her dunes .
My eyes wander without shame over their bodies 
as if they were dead.

.

.

To Me At 20

You don’t know it yet but your life has assembled.

Your vignette fully formed. Your brain custumized.

Your heart swooshable. Your are unchangeable

beyond what’s required. Yet still straining in the yoke, 

which will never yield but you don’t know that yet. 

You think you’ll wiggle out with time. It’s good to think that

(I even think it now so late in the game)

but here’s what you don’t know yet: the yoke is loose 

enough to tolerate. You won’t make a huge fuss.

But if we ever get a second chance, little girl,

let’s break out of it, let’s really break out of it.