Another Man // Behind Glass
BY ALLYSON PATY
When I watch you through the visor
of your father’s flight helmet
my breath, a scatter plot
of condensation on dark glass
it’s not valor not weaponry
or sky
but the skin smell
of a person held there, working
Wait you say
I’ll take a picture
& I watch you turn from the room
All I think is my head
occupies the space
made for the head of another man
hands on my thighs, thighs in their nylons
there is too much of me inside my life—
my life the one name for and so on
through the news delivered & news consumed
the language fat with names
for you
my flame, inamorato . . .
I’d thought to be inside
this military thing
the difficult heart of my dress-up
not the sense of trespass
into your father
the man who gave you
the name I use
where there is no word at all
for the cashier sinks her hands into my tote she plants
this sack of rice which is our dinner
for in the middle of a hard sleep the landing pattern pulls
the day’s first plane overhead
for the unread items continued to accumulate, your lips
were chapping & I was
in the middle of my own hard sleep
I say Michael
