Matreyoshka
Oct 16 2008


She was not what I expected.
On the phone, she sounded older, jaded,
a bad dresser.

And when I met her, I still could not be sure
whether to believe
this elegant young lady,
knowing the dark secrets
the double lives
we are powerless to help —
the misleading first impressions
and the needed self-deceptions
as we re-invent ourselves.

She is not devious, but complex
much like the rest of us,
a shape-shifter
with hidden depths.
She is a chimera
a nesting doll,
surprising us all
with yet more incarnations.

Even naked
there was layer after layer,
her thick skin
her inscrutable eyes.
How she moves, so seamless
from day into night,
from darkness to light,
from fierce desire
to satisfied.
Her many friends
unknown to each other.
Her secret lovers,
or those who think they are.

I am no longer sure
which is her
and which, her secret identity.
Clumsy, mild-mannered
in those ugly glasses
she is well disguised.
So I look into her eyes,
wondering
what she sees through mine.