Judgment
by Dheepa Maturi
by Dheepa Maturi
I
know the angle from which
to
pull the threads from my skin.
I
know how to twist and anchor them
on
shards of my bone,
how
to unwind my organs and entrails —
and
thoughts —
how
to weave them all into jagged tapestry.
It
takes practice,
but
I've been doing this for awhile.
You
do not notice as I spiral my arms
and
fling the cloth.
You
do not notice as it descends
over
your face, torso, feet.
At
last, I can comprehend you
through
the underbelly of my organs,
through
the kinks in my dermis.
You
aren't kind,
and
you don't love me.
Your
words stretch and
distort
around the edges.
I
don't feel your pulse
or
your breath,
but
I see you.
About the poet: “I am the director of a
nonprofit fund in Indianapolis and a graduate of the University of
Michigan (A.B. English Literature) and the University of Chicago. My
poems and essays have appeared in Every Day Poems, Tweetspeak Poetry,
A Tea Reader, and Here Comes Everyone.”