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Advanced Anatomy

by Brent Goodman

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This was the first woman--air-
brushed, glossy, arms hanging
still at her sides, palms open,
face expressionless as the diagram
of Woman and Man on the metallic greeting plate
of Voyager II, first woman any alien
would meet. Didn't I feel alien? Huge book
across my knees, its cool leather cover,
muted echoes of footsteps above
as I crouched under the dank stairwell
squinting through thick glasses.
This woman! --not a woman but a series
of overlapping transparencies, manila skin,
brown hair, half-circle breasts drawn
compass-perfect. It had little to do, I'd say,
with lust or science: blame it on my early love
for tearing-open cardboard boxes, strewing
books and papers across the floor,
diving headfirst into my parents' lives.
I turned the static-slick pages
layer by layer in careful observation,
the light skin of my own palm visible
through the clear sheets: delta-like
nerve, aorta and lung, her tiny
red heart small as a chicklet.

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