Heidi Brooks Poems

it's a painting of a woman's hips.
i don't know how my parents don't think i'm a little fruity.
i told them this was feminist art
and they believed me.
...

the first time i paused and listened to your words,
i cried tears of lavender and violets.
you found me on that wettish afternoon, drunk
on your penillion.
...

staring down at my feet in the shower,
i am transfixed.
i think of november,
of the curves of my calves
...