Skip to main content

Judgment, a poem by Dheepa Maturi

by Dheepa Maturi

I know the angle from which
to pull the threads from my skin.
I know how to twist and anchor them
on shards of my bone,
how to unwind my organs and entrails —
and thoughts —
how to weave them all into jagged tapestry.
It takes practice,
but I've been doing this for awhile.

You do not notice as I spiral my arms
and fling the cloth.
You do not notice as it descends
over your face, torso, feet.
At last, I can comprehend you
through the underbelly of my organs,
through the kinks in my dermis.

You aren't kind,
and you don't love me.
Your words stretch and
distort around the edges.
I don't feel your pulse
or your breath,
but I see you.

About the poet: “I am the director of a nonprofit fund in Indianapolis and a graduate of the University of Michigan (A.B. English Literature) and the University of Chicago. My poems and essays have appeared in Every Day Poems, Tweetspeak Poetry, A Tea Reader, and Here Comes Everyone.”