Staci Halt

Why are people not starting

as they walk past

A man offers me, before he notices

the facts,

many things,

a drink,

a compliment;

a good time for a brief time–

he’s bored or sad and I am here

I’m sorry I say, I wish

I could, really–

It’s nice, you’re nice

It could be nice

My hands are tied

though, you understand

His eyes follow my gaze

down my throat

he sees for the first time

my torso

unzipped from the sternum,

breasts apart,

ribs splayed like bat wings

navel halved

My hands grip the two flaps

of my skin and

adhering fat,

holding myself

as if I am a coat

fending off a chill

Entrails visible,

the organs,

like sea creatures,

slowly swim

before his naked eyes.

I see, he says your hands

are tied, I see

he repeats confounded

by questions. Like, how he’d pound

someone with an open chest,

it’s distracting—

Must be going

I’ve never seen someone

run so fast

like a come by collie

Let’s chase him

Wait man, wait,

It’s not that bad, it’s

healing, actually

The skin is slippery,

my grip nearly lost

Don’t get me wrong,

I want to drop a side to wield

a fork,

scratch my nose,

pry a stray hair from my mouth;

I’m pulling it together

I’m keeping it together,

I love you, man,

or could briefly, but completely,

the way I love

how the blood smells sharp

like pennies and mulch