Who knows where your eye
will fix next?
Caged rolling animal
in the eye -- its vision
knuckled like a fist
Who can say
what it sees?
Signature of the
all starred -- like constellations,
like Picasso's rendering of Balzac's
A bestial net -- lines and just
that ugly woman knitting
Just me: shorn of hair, skeletal
with a grief I can't name -- my heart's
layer of cellophane
its glossy rip and pull --
the nasty fix in your eye, Byzantine
on me, your body's poor soul:
tethered like meat
to that foul naked
Copyright 1999, Amy
Amy Pence teaches at DeVry Institute of Technology in Atlanta.
She's published in The Antioch Review, New American Writing,
and other periodicals. She has a three-year-old daughter named Ada.