Lisa Marie Basile

L i s a  M a r i e  B a s i l e

Nude

Soldiers stand at attention.

I am in underwear

that is not sure of its place,

a yellow dread passing

through windows.

Do you care if I am nude?

The barrel of your gun,

like men weeping,

against my cheek.

Is it a threat that I am

content, am not suckling

night butterflies,

dark wine, skinning animals

just to prove the use of my thumbs,

am not selling

my teeth

my moon

for a new life?