Oblique

That’s not what I asked you.

Smooth. No lines of anger, only

the tightening bitterness

of your folded hands.

Use words to run to the red

damp center of your heart,

sit there beating with it.

Turn your face inside-out. Be blank.

Shine like the light hitting the glass

making it a mirror. Reflect.

Use words to turn away.

That’s the only answer you’ll get.

Published in Perigee magazine (online), 2004

©Beth Partin 2004. All rights reserved.