u/UnsealedTablet

i don’t look like you, i don’t think

that is to say

i can’t picture you, even with my eyes closed
every image of you wavers like a scarf in wind
even when i sleep
that colored silk is a haze over your face, over mine

i often wonder
if you’d recognize me
if i walked past you on the street

when i was a child you’d look and look and look at me
your watery blue eyes searching, always that secret test i will never pass but will always try

i don’t look like you at all
and once you stole my lipstick
the one that smelled like banana
painting in the fluorescent bathroom mirror

blue eyes (mine are hazel)
blue eyes on me, again on me in the mirror
turning your head from side to side
“i’m still beautiful” you say, and i nod and nod

your feet and hands crack in the winter
deep gashes, chasms on your heels
so that i could see the angry, quivering flesh of your feet
you’d bleed, they’d bleed

each pounding, seeking, heated footstep
as you looked for us
thump thump
as we hid
and as i kept the little ones quiet, listening for the tone, the shape of each of your steps
the weeping-bloody language of
thump thump

i’d think
thump
does that step hurt you?
thump thump
did that one?

there are days
when every face i pass on the street is yours
there are days
when the scarf over our face blows so close it floods my mouth
that i think- it’s december
does this step hurt you?

maybe i am blind, to think anything i write
anything i hold in my cracking hands
could ever be about anything
could ever look like anything
but you

************************************************

thank you all for the great feedback on my last poem :) here’s another that i’m workshopping- any and all feedback or comments are welcome!

feedback i’ve given:

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/qAQcggu4sH

https://www.reddit.com/r/poetry\_critics/s/sw4ttmTeUJ

the damp smell of the clay
is what i remember most of that 11th summer

it made my mouth water
the wet-dirt vapor all around me as i kneaded it and kneaded
it felt like i was drowning when it stuck to my fingers and bound me up
gray streaks drying painful and tight up my forearms

endlessly i shaped the earth- rounding in my hands
perfect spheres
putting them in the plastic-lined bucket
not thinking about my fingers in bondage

and when my teacher would walk by
i’d lift the plastic cover
(see, we cover them so they don’t dry out)
and show her- see?
see how good i am?
please tell me, are they good?
and the thick scent would curl up to me again

i remember the clay

and the lice

i knew about them and i didnt
all at once in the way children do

i knew about them because of that night in the kitchen

i was sweeping
there were still dishes to do, and counters, and mopping
and that wasn’t even counting the clay that needed me the next day

the bug was caught under my nail
it flailed six arms, violent, tiny and grey
the force of its panic frightened me
the weight of its life on my finger
i flicked it away
and kept sweeping

i knew about the lice and i didn’t

i didn’t know
because
even then
no matter how perfect the sphere
no one would comb them out

***************************************************

this is my first poem i’ve ever posted on reddit- I’m open to any and all criticism or feedback! thanks for reading my silly little poem :)

feedback i’ve given:

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/qAQcggu4sH

https://www.reddit.com/r/poetry\_critics/s/sw4ttmTeUJ

the damp smell of the clay
is what i remember most of that 11th summer

it made my mouth water
the wet-dirt vapor all around me as i kneaded it and kneaded
it felt like i was drowning when it stuck to my fingers and bound me up
gray streaks drying painful and tight up my forearms

endlessly i shaped the earth- rounding in my hands
perfect spheres
putting them in the plastic-lined bucket
not thinking about my fingers in bondage

and when my teacher would walk by
i’d lift the plastic cover
(see, we cover them so they don’t dry out)
and show her- see?
see how good i am?
please tell me, are they good?
and the thick scent would curl up to me again

i remember the clay

and the lice

i knew about them and i didnt
all at once in the way children do

i knew about them because of that night in the kitchen

i was sweeping
there were still dishes to do, and counters, and mopping
and that wasn’t even counting the clay that needed me the next day

the bug was caught under my nail
it flailed six arms, violent, tiny and grey
the force of its panic frightened me
the weight of its life on my finger
i flicked it away
and kept sweeping

i knew about the lice and i didn’t

i didn’t know
because
even then
no matter how perfect the sphere
no one would comb them out

***************************************************

this is my first post on here- I’m so open to any and all criticism or feedback! thanks for reading my silly little poem :)

feedback i’ve given:

https://www.reddit.com/r/poetry_critics/s/OgmAVrnVi4

https://www.reddit.com/r/poetry\_critics/s/hYHmy6yY1B