I worry I can no longer pretend
my face gone clear as a billboard
and as large,
telegraphing what it is I have
for sale, or worse,
what it is I’d rather hold back.
I worry that I’m now a balloon,
obvious as I blot out the sun
for a moment
before I travel on,
invisible, but bound to
strangle a sea bird or a turtle —
some creature that finds me subtle,
not clear enough at all.
Today’s optional prompt at Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads was to borrow a line from another poet. I borrowed “I worry I can no longer pretend” from Tarfia Faizullah’s “Poem Full of Worry Ending with My Birth.”