Exposure
by Ayesha Chatterjee
[ poetry - september 05 ]
Already you know more about me
Than I do of you.
What is it like to hold a soul
Between your finger and thumb?
The perfect power of it,
Putting a life away, then taking it
Out at will, over and over,
A cycle repeated.
Me, I can only sense
A ripple in the air that might be you.
I wear you like an invisible cape of peacock feathers,
Shimmering eyes turned inwards;
A rustle and I turn, knife-glancing,
And sometimes there you almost are.
Do you smile when you dust me off?
Do I bore you?
What do you think of
In those spaces,
Timeless,
When you forget me,
Just as I forget you?
Which I do. Sometimes.
You see, it's complicated, this attrition,
This busy, busy moulding,
This absolute judgement.
Even you, removed, are not impervious.
