Mar 22, 2024
Ama Codjoe, from Bluest Nude: Poems; āBluest Nudeā
[Text ID: āI crave. I want to be seen clearly or not at all.ā]
Loading...
seen from Netherlands
seen from Netherlands
seen from Yemen
seen from Netherlands
seen from Ukraine
seen from Venezuela
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from Maldives
seen from Nicaragua
seen from United States
seen from Singapore
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from Bahrain
seen from United States
seen from Argentina
seen from Hong Kong SAR China
Ama Codjoe, from Bluest Nude: Poems; āBluest Nudeā
[Text ID: āI crave. I want to be seen clearly or not at all.ā]
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ā¢ No registration required ā¢ HD streaming
Ama Codjoe, from "The Bluest Nude" [ID'd]
On Seeing and Being Seen by Ama Codjoe, fromĀ Bluest Nude.
On Seeing and Being Seen
by Ama Codjoe
I donāt like being photographed. When we kissed at a wedding, the night grew long and luminous. You unhooked my bra. A photograph passes for proof, Sontag says, that a given thing has happened. Or you leaned back to watch as I eased the straps from my shoulders. Hooks and eyes. Right now, my breasts are too tender to be touched. Their breasts were horrifying, Elizabeth Bishop writes. Tell her someone wanted to touch them. I am touching the photograph of my last seduction. It is as slick as a magazine page, as dark as a street darkened by rain. When I want to remember something beautiful, instead of taking a photograph, I close my eyes. I watched as you covered my nipple with your mouth. Desire made you beautiful. I closed my eyes. Tonight, I am alone in my tenderness. There is nothing in my hand except a certain grasping. In my mindās eye, I am stroking your hair with damp fingertips. This is exactly how it happened. On the lit-up hotel bed, I remember thinking, My body is a lens I can look through with my mind.
I know what it is
to bloom. Youāre right when you say
the shape of my life doesnāt depend solely
on me.
āAma Codjoe, In the Noise and Whip of the Whirlwind
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ā¢ No registration required ā¢ HD streaming
A poem by Ama Codjoe
Why I Left the Garden
After I lost my breast, I became a woman sutured by a kind of knowledge.
All day I moved as if walking was no different from falling. I owned the potholes and the riddled sky. I owned nothing at all.
Even from far away, I could hear the record skipping. Time was running outĀ Ā of hands. Of faces.
The first time a lover traced my scar, fingered its riverĀ Ā and kissed its groove, I woke early the next morning and, quietly, I left.
Ama Codjoe
First published in The Atlantic (May, 2022)
More poems by Ama Codjoe are available through her website.
Ama Codjoe, from āPrimordial Mirrorā
Walking alone in a forest, I came upon a deer-this was not a vision. It faced me, on its four thin legs, unmoved as a cave painting brushed by light. I made myself still. I spoke to it, softly. I can't remember what I said. The deer regarded me as a god would, eased by my astonishment. Then, slowly, I moved closer, and the deer did not run. By now, you know it was love I walked toward, not the deer, but what hung in the space between us. I know it was love because, as I held my breath, the deer took a few steps toward me before bounding into the camouflage of branches and leaves.
ā Ama Codjoe, "The Deer" (via Read a Little Poetry)