Current Issue: Spring/Summer 2011

See-Through; 
Megan Alpert

Light falls off the back of the pond. The pond blurs
and purples, all I need for my arms. Not your small
familiar frame stepping into mine. Instead, years
of trying to be the same color as the rocks, the water,
                                                           as anything I walked past,
see-through.
                               (You my flashlight.      You my spraypaint.)
Hurt that doesn’t give up. Is a stone in me.
I feel my shapes around it.            (Then I forget, I let you
turn the lights on.            Sleuthed out.  Solids and yellows.)
I stand at the pond. Concentrate hard on the water.
              When I was young I lay down. Sucked the sun up
from the hot rock. The beautiful stones. I pick them up and hold
                                          them, one after another
thinking what I’ll have when you are gone.