CALL ME BELOVED

my shadow is long, thrown onto the sidewalk
as the sun burns through coastal fog, mist
wrapping up and around my twiggish legs,
and I realize I cannot remember when it was
that I learned to walk on them, if I ever did.
I’m a newborn giraffe, stumbling about
on skinny stilts, my jeans hugging my knees,
flaring out and falling on my flat feet.

sometimes it’s like an extra set of eyes
fixed on the outside and looking in.
I can see the look on my face as they form,
solemn nods to passersby, the dark rings
that settle into the corners.
look at me – do you see it too?
that amorphous tint that stalks me in mirrors
and keeps me hanging a second too long,
doubting if these eyes belong to me –
epileptic flashes of a stranger staring back.