What They Tell Me About

Rachel Rice ©2005
(written in 1992 when I was working at
Island Counseling Center on Martha's Vineyard)

What they tell me about is fear
Shoulders hunched, arms folded, holding
Hurt in, shuttered against loss
Looking down, then up, then down again
Like a bird steeling itself to snatch
A crumb from my outstretched hand.

What they tell me about is pain
Their tears tremble but never overflow
The dams of their control have no cracks.
They look away, too much is written plainly
In their eyes and they know I read well
Recognize too much, and the dam must never break.

What they tell me about is rage
Fist clenched as if a dagger
Is what belongs there. Their eyes are
Predatory like a wolf who hunts with purpose
But alone. These eyes stare through me
Like daggers, sharp and deadly, like hate.

What they tell me about echoes
Through my nights and days
Making me twist sometimes inside my skin
As if to avoid the question in their eyes
As if to hide the truth in mine from them.
What they tell me about is me.