The mark of vulnerability is a sneer. Her upturned
nose. A pointed chin.
A hand slammed hard, against a desk. Or the throb
of a forehead vein, clear in a crowded
The mark of vulnerability is a scathing taunt, the
imperceptible flex of an arm.
Narrowed eyes. A very quiet exhale.
The quizzical tilt of a head so easy. Almost
The older I get, the more I look
when the days slip by like rain on the outside of a
that the white grip of knuckles on a suitcase handle
or the fixed gaze in a subway car, angry like a glare.
are just more and more instances of deer trapped in
Trying not to blink.