Visibility

she was chiseled in soft chiaroscuro by the javelins of moonlight that lanced her.
they sat side by side near the railroad tracks and he thought, in that moment,
that she could easily pass for one of the silent film sirens she admired so much
lost in a silver haven of rapt contemplation as she examined the state of her
chipped nails, let the mangy leather jacket slide down one bone-white shoulder
blade, as thin as an angel’s wing.

he wished that he could turn her tears into pearls and sapphires because he
could see the toll that her ghosts were taking on her, her mind, her thin frame,
her scarred arms and sooty eyes and heavy heart.

he watched her peel back a scab of black onyx nail polish and flick it away
with a sigh.

sometimes, he found himself thinking that, being yourself, so that the hiding
does not kill you, is the bravest thing anyone can do.

but then, when he was with her, he thought of those who hide themselves
so that they do not get killed, and they

she

seemed stronger.