The Opposite of the Body

Of the face in general, let me say it’s a house built by men and lived in by their dreams. When you’ve been plucking eyes out of the floorboards as long as I have, you’ll see this, just as you’d see the patience it requires to render an eyebrown, half an hour and an understanding of architecture. When you see your body, think its opposite: not the bridge, but its lighted face reflecting the water, some other city as seen from a ship— your forehead, once ponderous, now light as umbrellas— still not beautiful enough to make time stop. The pleasure in being a woman’s knowing everything’s borrowed and can’t be denied, as when you take apart a clock, there’s always another inside.