The Lives of Others
Dec 2 2008


In this skin,
impervious
bristling with nerves,
the reflex is aversion —
flinching
retracting
learning what can hurt.

We are soft-shelled creatures
bleeders;
sweating-out our fears
easily cut.

We inhabit this solitude,
brushing-up, now and then,
wondering
about the mystery of other people’s lives.
It’s not the double life
the fatal secret
that surprises us.
It’s how different
a simple word can seem.
How each of us clings
to such improbable places.
And how love can come so hard
while others breathe it in,
as unthinking as respiration.

How they dive head-first
into barely tested depths,
their faith
unquestioned.
Or how they swim, suspended
in a warm replenishing bath,
their skin
as liquid as an infant’s.

Before it congeals
into this pale trembling shape,
we learn to keep
well-hidden.