Published in West 49th Magazine at Langara Community College, 1991-1992


I cover them in cloth like I am
draping the dead, or old furniture
or merely painting a new room. I am
afraid of drowning in windows.

I fear a domestic X-ray. To be
exposed to an outer radiation like
a balding child that now cowers
under a hat.

I fear those who will crawl to the
window and make an incision in
the glass, prying the chest open in a
bloodless wound. It does not
shatter. They enter quietly.
Through an ally.

They crawl inside to steal the
valuables. I am the involuntary
organ donor that is left
exposed. Empty.
They refuse to sew me up.
They feed on my solitude.

It could happen in
the dark. I unstaple the
outer skin like cardboard packaging.
Like the leather of an easy chair
I am peeled, human-shaped, awaiting the
slice of a scalpel in the shape
of an eye in my chest. I am
I am a whole of raw edges hoping
for blindness.


Photo Credit: judith74 via Compfight cc

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