At Home in the Body
My cousin is a dancer, while I have always
lived too much in my mind. When I visited,
she dragged me to a belly-dancing lesson.
In the dim light, women in clouds of scented oil
swayed like palm trees, cymbals crashing
on each finger, arms coiling overhead.
They could say so much with just the slightest
bird-tilt of the head, move as though each muscle
had a mind—rictus abdominus, obliques, erector
spinae, pelvic floor, and more. At the sight, my body
stalled, so my cousin tied a folded scarf over my eyes,
blinding me to faltering. I became a leopard, muscles
a rippling stream beneath the skin.
*
Robbi Nester is the author of 5 books of poetry and editor of 3 anthologies. She currently curates and hosts two monthly poetry reading series on Zoom and acts as contributing editor on a new journal, The Odd Pocket Review. Learn more about her work at robbinester.net