they plop down in the bus seat
behind me
two teen girlies in piles of layered
clothing to stay warm
I’m invisible
strapped into the slot for a
wheel chair
handicapped people can be
hard to see
one tells the other about cutting
herself around her pubes so people
couldn’t tell
they’re talking in whispers, but I’m
invisible and they don’t know I can
hear everything
I can smell the scent of their hair
the other one tells her friend she
does it under her boobs
self-mutilators exchanging techniques
I think about all the scars I have
from the doctor’s scalpel and wonder
if I count,
but I’m invisible and they moved
on to talking about boys and shoes.
J. Masuda © 2007