[The twenty-sixth installment of the month-long poetry sequence that began on October 1st.]
"Abomination"
Tiffany Healey
Even I can only read "Born of Man and Woman" so many times,
So I toss aside the musty-scented, cracked-spine paperback
And wander across the attic to peer out its oval window.
Mom and Dad were kind enough to have tinted the glass,
Allowing me to at least look out onto the world without
There being any worry about anyone catching glimpse of me.
But I wonder if they knew that when the moon hangs just right,
I can see my reflection in this makeshift mirror.
Wish I could kid myself that it's just some funhouse trick
That makes my forehead seem lumpen, my jaw pointed,
My nose leprous, and my eyes sunken and unlevel.
I stand there so raptly, in fascination with my own mutation,
That at first I don't hear the commotion in the street below.
Shifting and squinting, I stare through my self-image and spot
The utter monstrosity slouching past the house I've never left.
As if sensing my attention, the awful, wonderful thing out there
Twists his neck and gazes straight up towards my high window.
I gasp, delighted, but realize an instant later the creature isn't alone.
There's a whole gang behind him, jabbing and cursing at him.
Whatever hope had surged within me drains like an unplugged tub.
In my head I suddenly hear my parents' constant rationalizations:
How I needed to stay locked away up here, known by no one,
Because the People Outside would never understand me,
Would try to take me away, maybe even hurt me.
God, how I hate it when Mom and Dad are right.
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