VHS

for V

How tempting to begin
with the scientist telling me how the eye doesn’t see
at all, just transmits light and shape
to the greedy brain– poor, sad eye, just a blind blinking
light on the camera– is it on? we wonder
aloud at what amazes, disgusts:

3 men in masks
spot a woman
with a perfect, round ass
wrestle her shirt and bra
from her tits,
film her goodies,
cut her to bits–

If I commit the scientist
to paper, some critic
will hate it, offer it
as proof of my failure
to transmit the unseeable

at least 2000 ways to get inside of this
and I chose the scientist
with his hazel-flecked eyes
beneath the horn-rimmed glasses–

not of the spectacle of the woman
on her back, mouth flung carelessly
open, unable to see the mouth
parting her, fingers trapped
inside of her, some other vision
in the dark: the brain a blank
slate, the body just wants, wants, wants

all the time, wants–

like me, you’re afraid
to close your eyes at night
in bed. Who might get in?

Open eyes: twin cameras flashing.

Here is the unsayable always rising
up in a dream, the dark men
who could take my son, take me from
my son– you want a fence
around your daughter, around your heart
that beats inside her small
brown body: no one can say
what will happen when you hand over half
of yourself; sometimes, I thought

If I am quiet enough
I can hear the cells split;

how often I locked myself
in the bathroom, the black shapes
just shapes, divorced 
from my eye, from my tongue
two bodies just bodies of one dark fear
the man outside crashing, looking
to clutch at me, to reach for the body
inside me, his body was my body
then, just as suddenly, he was his–

You want a fence
you want a camera

but what you don’t know: the fence leads only
to another, you’ll want a camera inside the camera
to show you the inner workings, the thoughts
of whoever lurks just out beyond the angry links,

the chains that glisten in the moonlight, the doberman
with its pointed ears, their own kind of lens–

this is the perpetual night of your brain–

someone is picking the lock
someone is slipping inside
and he lives only in your unseen, invisible
blinking light of your naked eye, forced open

while your daughter sleeps

a half-smile on her lips.

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About evanduyne

I'm assistant professor of writing at Stockton University, where I'm also affiliated faculty in the Women's, Gender, and Sexuality Studies program. I work on Sylvia Plath, contingent faculty, and creative writing around trauma and domestic violence.
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