Peripheral

By Sara Bowman

Told him
I liked the way
he looked at me
when I looked away

Could feel
in my periphery,
some puzzling touch of
eyes passing over,

an admiration?
an undressing?
maybe no matter.

maybe simple study
of cheekbone and lips
of curls and eyelashes,

maybe crunching the numbers
of some hidden equation,
deciding
if
I add up.

a smile twists
and arms unfold

unfounded
ungrounded
like
stepping into traffic
without looking,
Fall in.

maybe it was
only the moon
but no matter.
  I didn’t mind him
kneeling at my feet.
was a kindness to
    the Earth to touch
his knees, and She
  would tell me the difference
between worshipped and
  walked on,
      really just a subtle shift
In position, really,
and She has never lied to me.

Let us pray.

now seems maybe
my math is too much.

alpha to omega,
beginning to end, maybe
running superficial like
the cephalic vein,
that is, traveling arm to heart,
directly fragile and
close to the skin,
vulnerable and un-

hidden

so ready to be bloodied
by a punch of life —–
I am
a sliced live wire

begging for
rain!
cut me loose
or be electrocuted
by my disarray

I told him anyway

I liked the way
he looked at me.
made me forget
forgotten things
for whatever it’s worth
whatever that means.