CURTAINS ALONE
could hardly keep
a secret,
so she hung
a green venetian blind
on the window.
From then on,
no light
would seep even through
the tiniest fissures
of her room,
save when her fingers
slit the slats
open.
Beyond the window,
around where you stand,
everything falls in a vast
blindspot.
And each day,
relentlessly she preys
on all that we try
so hard to hush
down,
our short-lived guilt,
our petty lies…
Or so that's what
she thinks so,
like how she suspects
fat Bobby's morning stroll
is a scheme of mischief
and there is something
dubious, or even devious
with the old widow,
Mrs. Reyes,
when she's out to water
her orchids at night.
I'll say you have
to watch out
where you step,
every little inch
of your intrusion.
When the corner of her mouth
itches, she will betray
and relay
to the neighborhood
your weekend schedule
or run straight
to the newspeople
to spill your life story.
Of course,
there's the time of day
when she flips the blind close
to attend, perhaps,
to her kitchen chores
for a while.
But then,
you can only guess
when the coast
is clear.
