Suppose a man has seamed
his tongue in your ear like a nerve
and fills your head
with shy reticence,
anxious witchcraft.
Love, he might say,
(or Family,
or whatever)
is a hungry dog
with bad eyesight.
And suppose you are there
your head to the horizon line
lapping, squinting --
Now open your eyes. Do you see
his mouth around your waist
like a hand?
When he sighs,
I envy you animals
with a home on your back
to crawl into
start crawling away.
At first he will nod,
Now I can see you.
Now I can really see you.
But then he will shout,
Now Now
Come back.
Heather Brondy has been previously published in Branches Quarterly, 3rd Muse and 13thWR.