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      May 1, 2013Recycling PornographyStephanie Lenox

      In the bin beneath weeks of Time
      I find her, giddy as a student
      in yearbook photo, showing off
      her odd trick. Legs pinned
      behind ears, she grins in white
      lace, almost lovely, almost graceful
      below a neon title and date?
      as if it could be different
      each month, wilder contortions,
      a new secret message spelled out
      in limbs and lips. How tedious
      it must be to sit like that
      while the camera searches
      day after day for a fresh angle,
      eyes begging to see more.
      It’s her flexibility that surprises me,
      how easily the legs fold back.
      She is a white wishbone, a horseshoe,
      a charm of glossy flesh. Her eyes
      tell me she does not care who I am.
      She is not a textbook or footnote.
      Spread-eagle across the page
      each woman refuses to be overlooked.
      I need to understand this desire?
      to stretch it out, until it too becomes
      severely ordinary. What new use
      can I make of this? I do not want to
      unhinge her legs. Show me, I ask
      her teetering form, what more
      can be done. Spread it out before
      me. I will not turn away.
      Show me something still frightening
      or so beautiful it will shock me again.

      from #21 - Summer 2004