Mostly always modest,
I wear my one-piece swim
suits like a relic or a
ghost woman
on the shore
I cover up and I
end up getting so
steaming hot
that I tear off those
heavy unnecessary
clothes back at home
feet screaming in the
September heat
I tear the black
scarf from my neck
like I am my own damn
birthday present
I unwrap myself and
when I look into the
mirror
I see that I am naked
and somewhat beautiful
and if I just showed off
a shoulder or two…
but then I forget and
I wake and I wrap
myself up again
in cloth and jean
and leather
I roast in the
Indian summer
wondering
Who is it
that I’m hiding
from?
MAMA BIRD 
Ah, Terah, your question at the end is an excellent writing prompt. I’ve found that for myself and others I’ve worked with the more we resist the more the need to go there. xx
I’d love to use that as a writing prompt. And I like that approach, I too have been asked to Write about what I least want to write about. I should do that.
I am guarded lately. I have a reader who asked me in person today, “Who ARE you hiding from?” I was hasty and replied “Sometimes poems are just poems, they don’t mean anything.” I suspect I am wrong about that. (Sorry Connie. Love.)
Hello Dear Terah. Here I am late as usual casting my bread upon the waters to be devoured by the lazy geese, throwing another bottle into that monstrous sea and watching the tide carry it away. I speak as someone who loves the free feeling of stripping down and working as naked as I can get. Being a miner in the wilderness this is not much of a problem, though I generally end up still in my rubber boots. I think loin cloths need to come back into style. Here’s a poem you might enjoy: LADY GODIVA (a third version) by Edward Shanks. Miss you mam. Keep up the good work.