Elizabeth Gross
Questioning room, post-Fall No, we aren’t what we appear. The dangling light bulb yellows us, fixes our shadows to the floor. Let our shadows be forgiven for what we cut out of the light. What other part 292 |
of a living person goes without a pulse? We’ll stand here, yes, naked, even, as if that could help. You promised power over language and animals but every word calls out your distance, you, who formed us in the image of a question, but, no, never promised to answer.