My mother, most beautiful when she could no longer observe
the world observing her, became translucent.
Like the tearable petals of the arctic poppy
rooted in coarse stone, light passed through her.
When me and the room and the world disappeared

and the only thing left on her eye was a ring of brightness
—no congregation, no bank teller
or grocery store cashier—
my mother's body began to disappear.
Now all her new clothes hang in her closet, still tagged.
New tubes of lipstick—their perfect rosy slope unmarred.

For decades she shaved her whole body—I thought for my father's pleasure.
But long after his death she continued to purchase pink Gillettes.
Even after the macular degeneration
poured an inky stain at the center of her gaze
she tried to shave by touch and I observed
all obstacles between her and godliness dissipate.

Now my mother unabashed in her blindness
glides the pads of her fingers along her forearms—uproots
any hair she finds.
Her eyes are as empty as fishless water.
I can stare into them without fear of reprisal.

Her feminine nose, so different from mine.
The deep v of her cupid's bow in her unpursed lips.
When her vision was reduced to a blurry shine
she began to turn her face toward any source of light
spoke into its heat—no matter
where I stood in the room—epilated, pristine.

At the top of the world the arctic poppy appears delicate
as its papery petals untwist. But they remain
covered in fine black hair that catch
and trap scant heat against the flower

while my mother moves through her days, unseeing herself seen.
When God doubles down in his voyeurism
she does the only thing in her power,
chases the bright heat of His gaze around her waking hours,
face raised, body as pleasing as a clean pane of glass.

Allisa Cherry is the author of the poetry collection An Exodus of Sparks (Michigan State University Press) and the 2024 recipient of the Wheelbarrow Books Poetry Prize (RCAH Center for Poetry). Her work has recently appeared in journals such as Rattle, EcoTheo Review, The McNeese Review, and is forthcoming in The Mississippi Review and The Chicago Quarterly Review. She currently lives in Portland, Oregon, where she teaches workshops for immigrants and refugees transitioning to a life in the U.S. and serves as a poetry editor for West Trade Review.

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