The boy who first teaches me
that my body is beautiful,
is the same boy who teaches me
to notice birds,
how birds are beautiful
and are showing us things
all the time. He tells me
the story of the red-tailed hawk,
how it follows him
for entire mornings, loving
watching him walk
frozen fields. I imagine
this feels like being held,
in loved ones arms,
only even more familiar,
even more secure,

like the first time
he forces me to feel
his eyes all over
my body. Standing naked
in the wintery light
of muted television.
He shows me what it is,
to endure being beautiful,
using all of my strength
to keep my arms at my side,
letting him see me
and say to me, ?You are so
beautiful? while
his parents sleep upstairs,
his dog snores on the floor
next to us,

how being naked areound this boy,
eventually becomes easier,
than being naked around myself,
is how I can't help by think
of him every time I see birds
holding patterns in the sky.
The red-tailed hawk screams
like something new-born,
flies like something just freed.
It is always so spectacular,
I have to pull my car to the side
of the road to get a better view.
Looking up at the sky,
I am angry with myself,
somebody else has had
to teach me that this
is beauty.