The Whole Truth
BY JULIE DEBOER
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.
