Poems

An Observation

An Observation

Your stockings are torn. Did something catch them? Pulled and twisted? Or is it your skin barely there and flushing pink, tearing itself free?

You are suffocating, I can see it. You lungs are starving,, but no air can breach the plastic wrap you have been spun into. I can see it. Your hair is mussed and flattened beneath its transparency; your arms grotesque and bent in ways arms cannot bend. Legs meant for standing tall and mighty are broken, coiled like twist ties. No room to move, no room for running, no room for air in their plastic prison. I can see the fog of your last exhale; its small moisture lingers across your gasping lips. I want to take toothpicks and pop your second skin, your restricting and invisible membrane. I want this cold air that we all breathe to rush down your throat. I want you to taste its life on the small tip of your tongue. Roll it around your mouth and savor. I want you to take your spiny wings, your brittle arms and shatter your plastic cage and fly. Leave your skeletons behind. But you can’t. Not now. I see it in your eyes, you can’t.

You stockings are torn, but your skin can’t breach the plastic.