Dear Mr. Franklin,

Today, I don’t feel as ugly as I did yesterday.

In high school gym showers, I crouched in shame like Adam in the garden,

but this morning in Amsterdam, I was ten feet tall on a movie screen staring down at myself in the back row.

And today in Amsterdam, I sat before her as she explained the history of Dutch Colonialism without her shirt on.

Today in Amsterdam, their tobacco mouths tasted like sweet blood oranges.

Today in Amsterdam, I learned how to pronounce their last names, lost track of how many times I came, and stared out of windows and nothing was the same.

Today in Amsterdam, the unspeakable beauty of overflowing ashtrays, espresso gone cold, and a half smoked joint on the table awed me.

Today in Amsterdam, the charcoal drawing she made of me naked doesn’t look as ugly as I felt yesterday.

This is the real city of angels.

They remade me in their image.

Did I say already, Mr. Franklin, that today in Amsterdam, they taught me how to wear my body?

Today I learned that even if it’s ugly man, you’ve got to wear it like a gown.