Glass Eyes, Soft Gaze

You look at her, she looks at you.

You move her from dresser to desk to

chair, to some awkward corner of the 

room. 

The problem is that she looks too real.

Not just that the realness is creepy, 

but that is also makes it hard to 

shove her in the closet 

(you never want to send anyone there) 

or underneath a bunch of pillows

never to see the light of 

day again. 

If there is something behind those eyes, 

looking out, 

even if it’s mean, and hard, and wrong,

are you cruel enough to damn it 

without any wrongdoing 

other than 

giving you the 

unfortunate kind of tingles? 

You might burn the Ouija board 

your friends used to summon up

spirits on a Saturday night or 

pour out the last of your 

late mother’s questionable 

potions but 

She is different.

Too like a child you might

have been in another life, 

or had in another life.

You close your eyes, 

try to sleep, 

pretend

not to hear her laughing

at your softness. 

(it’s a fond laugh,

you tell yourself, 

when pretending

fails)