Back to Issue Forty-Three

The Whole Truth


I was a child once too, and then I learned how to hide
my breath in my throat, like a rabbit. How to hold myself

motionless while your hungry fingers began their familiar
search for something vulnerable. They always found what

they were looking for. It is funny I still talk about your fingers
and not you. I remember thinking it odd that your eyes were

always somewhere else, fixed toward the window while
your hands rummaged, and for a split second then you felt

human. Like you understood the weight, the whole truth
of what your hands were doing, even you could not face it.


Julie DeBoer is a poet and psychotherapist living in Seattle, Washington.  Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Ruminate MagazineSugar House ReviewBracken MagazineWest Trade Review, and elsewhere.

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