Across the circle
I watch his eyes,
slits of brown on milkwhite skin
with furrowed brows,
probing into the speaker's head,
and analyzing always.
His is a steady gaze when he is determined
to change your mind
to sway you from your wrong decision,
and a fleeting glance
when he's the one hurting.
His acute discomfort is subtly shown
in the way that he displays himself;
arms folded
legs crossed
cutting the world off from his potent mind.
The way in which he recoils
from another human's touch betrays
a sort of fear of people, a fear of closeness,
and a fragile little boy.
I wonder if he knows that people watch him,
that often
he is the one being assessed,
and inspected
and watched.
I wonder if he knows that I can see him
and every flinch, tremble,
fake smile...
and I wonder if he knows
that I know what he thinks
when his jaw locks shut
and his lips tighten
at the thought of a warm embrace.

03/20/2003

Author's Note: This poem's caled "across the circle" because of a class I took last semester in which we all had to sit in a circle everyday. It kinda forced us to be open and look at eachother... it was a good experience.

Posted on 03/20/2003
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