among the exact same strangers—
is it just me
or are they all alike, looking—.

I know what you must be thinking.
Being them
and many and all

eye—can you imagine their seeing.
Inside and out
I am crowded.

Being Two is what I have taken to
calling myself.
This redundancy

on the part of us all is disappointing
frankly. And how
onboard it is all going

disconcertingly same as last time. Yet
stranger. Here
I am only changing

and changed. Am expanding my repertoire
of songs. Can tell
by their louvering irises

that they hate or love what they are
above hearing. Twinkle
twinkle. Papa’s got

a brand new bag. Cheers theme, any
reggae. Maria Callas.
Nothing whistled

or hummed. Nothing improvised—
somehow they know…
Oh—and no dancing.

Which by their unstaring appears
to anger or exhaust.
Saint Lucia’s

Witnesses is what I have taken
to calling them
behind what I call

their backs. Imagine being their pupil
all over again. Imagine
alighting blind.

—Jo Ann Clark

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