The Poetry of Karla Huston
My mother told me
never to open the door
to men when I was home alone,
especially if I knew them.
Once a girl we knew was killed
while babysitting for her neighbor.
I wondered if she'd let him in,
if her mother had told her
of the danger. Later
my mother said our neighbor
was caught window peeking--
the one she'd expected,
the one she'd warned me about.
Later when I became
a mother, I saw three boys spying
through slanted shutters one night,
watching me nurse my daughter.

Tonight I'd like to stand
at my window, offer bare breasts,
press them like peonies
into the glass. When they flattened
into new moons, I wonder
who'd watch, who might come
and enter the space between