Nudes

"Can you send me some nudes?" He asked, and I smiled.

Showing him all my silly little napkin poems I kept locked away in a wooden box.
Dust settling over the words like the old war letters grandpa used to write.

I described that time I went swimming with my friends in a thunderstorm.
The rush I felt when the jolt of lightning hit the waves, even though it made me seasick.

I stripped my words bare— down to the marrow where my deepest insecurities lie.
The pain I've been through, the devastation I've created all laid out to dry.

I talked about my family, but not as much as I'd have liked—
And I swooned over my all-consuming obsession with sharks and vintage comic books from when dad was a kid.

I explained how the moon always makes me feel at home, but the sunset makes me feel like I'm on vacation.
And the different types of calm they can bring.

But when it was finally his turn to send me one back, I was left waiting.
Waiting for a reply that would never come.
I stuffed the napkins back in the box.

Because, silly me.
This man wanted a picture of my body, and I had just sent him a picture of my soul.