I have this winking 3-D postcard just above
my writing desk, a modest shoulder shot
of a young girl I've always imagined to be Thai,
or Cambodian, because she has this sly,
funny way of winking and sometimes
I see the photographer jabbering at her:
Look serious, Don't move, then, Look happy, wink,
because I know how they make these things,
they take two pictures that match
except for the wink and print them
on tiny optical slats that blend into one,
confuse the eye whenever you move past them.
But today, for some reason, I'm imagining the girl
to be not just bare-shouldered but completely naked
as she poses, and when she's finished, she doesn't ask him
for money as she usually does, but has tea with him
while she makes faces, jabbers at him in English, Look happy,
wink, before walking from one side of the world
to the other, to a small, flood-lit stage
where a naked man with a huge, writhing
body tattoo flowering from the center
of his body is standing above
a naked girl, methodically stroking himself
to erection. And then I realize
she’s not in the photographer's studio
anymore, but somewhere else, in the room
she shares with Li, her boyfriend, and it's not the photographer
kneeling in front of her, positioning her thighs
for the camera, but Li, because it was Li
who'd come home one night from the university,
told her the pictures would be worth hundreds,
that the tattooed man was only a dancer,
that he could be hired, that they didn't need
the photographer, they could do it themselves,
Look, he had magazines to guide them,
but she didn't have to hear anymore
because she knew it was enough money
to bribe the embassy for papers, jobs in Hong Kong,
just as she knew if she didn't escape, the Khmer
would surely kill her, hang her from the temple doors
as they had the other dancers, but there were
other dangers, dangers only she knew:
she had seen the tattooed man before,
had watched the beautiful surface of his body
coiling and uncoiling with desire
as he hovered above the naked girl,
until she’d felt him opening up inside her
like a rush of leaves and she knew then
if he ever touched her, she would be
swept away, just as Li would be swept, but against
his will, and that after they had made their way
to freedom, he would leave her, or if he stayed,
he would grow brittle or moody or violent
and she would be alone anyway,
so she said, Yes, she would do it,
and kissed him, and made love to him, there,
under the window, under whatever moon was left.