| The Poetry of Karla Huston | ||
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| WINDOWS | ||
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My mother told me
never to open the door to men when I was home alone, especially if I knew them. Once a girl we knew was killed while babysitting for her neighbor. I wondered if she'd let him in, if her mother had told her of the danger. Later my mother said our neighbor was caught window peeking-- the one she'd expected, the one she'd warned me about. Later when I became a mother, I saw three boys spying through slanted shutters one night, watching me nurse my daughter. Tonight I'd like to stand at my window, offer bare breasts, press them like peonies into the glass. When they flattened into new moons, I wonder who'd watch, who might come and enter the space between |
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