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
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