If only to see you

I’ve got eyes on my hands and they’re watching you.

They’re watching you even when I’m not.

I can’t stand to, you broke me.

Buried me under rags made to look like fine silk,

curse words uttered so sweetly they might be compliments,

palms to my cheek masquerading as gentle caresses.

I can see that change in your eyes

even when I don’t care to look.

Notice your posture straighten, lips purse.

I can look away, but the eyes on my hands

stay focused, recording your every move.

Frequency; time, date. Evidence.

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Oh, it’s that section of the library, is it?

Books in court,

their words binding the defendant

to the table

wrapping the air with motive,

mystery,

evidence that is pure fiction,

until the jury

stands up and reads

aloud.

The books fall down

blown away,

scattered, pages billowing

like petticoats

in a stiff morning breeze.