“I sit in a case of glass. I was trained to sit still. Was my fear of museums, that I told you about when we lay like exhibits, just a compounded memory? Layered like glass over glass? I am scared to extend my hand.
Someone else taught me that I am careless. I swing my arms thoughtlessly and tear through all the paper. The scolding was of the familiar eggshell and cracked window. I had to pick up every shard.
So my lens is now distorted. I can map out its edges with some confidence, my hand tracing the wall, his profile, my voice and its permutations. I smile so long as you let me.
But with how tightly I would grip your hand, I would cut off your circulation. It’s much easier to give you that power. Call it protection but I see what you’re hiding.
I’m starting to feel resentment and I wonder who poisoned the water. You like to drip-feed me, don’t you? The bubble rising in the tube, the blood vessel in my neck. I know it will burst one day.
I know now why you wanted to keep my organs within this room.”
- the sweet china doll
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