When I’m Dancing in the Shower I Think of Margaret Atwood

while trying not to slip on shampoo.
For a moment I fall in love with
the swing of these white hips cloaked in steam,

the soaking slap as my head whips back,
the moving without being.

Unfortunately, I feel sexy.
Unfortunately, I remember
the man watching me watch myself.

I can’t remember when he came
to be, must’ve been the same day

the eyes opened everywhere, clustered
in corners like mold, narrowing then
bulging like a pulse.

Oh, Margaret, how do I get out
of this frame? I’m tired of squeezing
my tits in the mirror, of kneading

my belly and trying to melt the
soft shame with my fingers, of living

in the third person. I wasn’t born
to be art. I wish the eyes would sleep.

Val Rivera is a queer writer and English major with a creative writing concentration at Ramapo College. Her work has been published in four issues of Trillium, Ramapo’s literary magazine. Her poetry and fiction explore nostalgia, the beauty and pain of womanhood, friendship, self-love and self-loathing.