Framed in pane
by Hadley Dion
Your apartment lies between
my home and work.
Scars
my rideshare route, appoints me
hostage voyeur. At stop light,
my gaze telescopes
toward your window.
The third one
back from the
street.
Checking for video game glow or
sinned smoke through
decaying screen. The murky glass
I once stared out of, draped
on ashy mattress. Framed in pane,
nude and stoned and wet,
kneecaps bruised.
But you were right about one thing.
No one can see in. Even if I
pushed pig nose to glass,
I'd only ever find reflection
of a defeated me.
And you were never good
at seeing anything
outside
of yourself.
Hadley Dion is a writer, audio editor, and filmmaker from Los Angeles. Her poems have been published or are forthcoming in Scapegoat Review, Anti-Heroin Chic, FreezeRay Poetry, Nixes Mate Review, Olney Magazine, and more. She loves volunteering at her local cat rescue, ghost stories, and crafting punch needle rugs.
Image by Belle Co.
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