There was a time when memory was theory, before we knew the shapes of constellations,or fifteen tips for maintaining a relationship, before weather patterns, before meaning, when my sisterused to call me to her room while she got dressed. Sometimes the world feels like a flashfrom an old-fashioned camera. I would sit down on her bed, next to her latest boyfriend, with handstucked under my legs and eyes like two dark holes widening inside my head. Sometimes I find myselfin places, and I don’t know how I got there. Together we would watch as she took off her shirt,her naked body bright and buzzing. Like something that would shock you if you touched it. SometimesI don’t know where to look when I’m at a crowded party. I remember I could feel his gaze, I could see ittossed across the room, like a ream of paper. Sometimes dreaming is a lot like watching television.On which side of that secret did I stand. Was I my sister. Was I him. Who did my eyes belong to.Sometimes I can convince myself of anything.
Copyright © 2018 by Austen Leah Rosenfeld.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission.
Austen Leah Rosenfeld is a PhD candidate in creative writing and literature at the University of Southern California. Her poems have appeared in Salmagundi Magazine, AGNI, Zyzzyva, Indiana Review, Gulf Coast, Poetry Northwest, Narrative, Carolina Quarterly, The Sewanee Review, Prairie Schooner, and others. She has a BA from Stanford University and an MFA in poetry from Columbia University.
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