You
stare at me from the shelf across this tiny room
Where
I sit alone
There
are ropes between us,
So I
am not allowed to move you to look away
But
your eerie gaze,
Vacant
and dazed,
Targets
me and draws my eyes
Back
to your cold pair without pupils
Entirely
white, you are seemingly unassuming
But I
know a little bit about who molded you
She
was depressed, they say
Suicidal,
some conjure
But
regardless of myths, sad and in need of care
She
died young
And
now we are told not to talk about her story
But
maybe if I knew what her brain
Was
telling her fingertips when she made you,
I
could stop staring back
Maybe
I would find out she thought about her three sons
While
she worked,
Or
maybe about her illustrious husband
Whom
she loved and admired,
Or
maybe she thought about her own growing love for art
As I
might
But
for now, I keep you at the corner of my eye
Just
to ensure you won’t make a sudden move
No comments:
Post a Comment