I worked in a grotesquerie
for years after that night
where others' open naked eyes
could ogle as they liked.
my eyes have long been sewn shut
and it's clear I cannot see
and gawkers suppose that because of this
I cannot hear or speak.
then I felt his heavy step
his hand upon my hair
a gentle creak upon my bench
a why whispered in my ear.
well, said I, eyes are meant
to be windows to the soul
but really, whatever lives in me
I'd rather no one know.