What Do You See?

Cecily Iddings

Famous but blank
as the flat walls
of a fortress
the skyline blocks
out its citizens.
My own auto
patrols the avenue
I learned from a minder
how to walk down
scared but
swaggering. The city
like a jelly pastry
gives way messily and
there I am
feeling crowded
a pickpocket
testing my depths
or an ad insisting
Dr. Z, I am disliked
for my skin or
an old friend finding
my face in hundreds.
Maybe I’ll take up
an uncertain elevator
to have an office
that is mine
and a smart look
away from things
that crawl on edges
along tracks or where
the floorboards meet
the door-sill
a joining that is beginning
to detach and makes
a hard promise.