Words by Kristin Garth
I see a stranger who looks like a friend.
Time machine eyes take me back when I was
a sister in an oak double bed, shin
shimmying skin while you listen —. flaws
I offer in darkness, pink gauze because
my skin has been opened. I can’t hold them
in — made porous by him without cause.
Caressing me carefully, playing pretend,
seeming so grateful, holding hate in — I
won’t recognize. Believe your unbroken words,
untraumatized eyes my suffering buys
from our demon. You feel spurned, me preferred.
See you in strangers who look like a friend,
I try not to think of how it could end.