Fall 2009

Giving Up Skin

by Donald Illich

It wasn’t hard at all.  Our teachers clapped
erasers together and we turned into skeletons.
We didn’t have to worry about prom anymore.

No tuxedo store would sell to us, no boutique
would deliver dresses to our minimalist bodies.
Instead, we rolled our bones down grass hills.

We evaded dogs as we took walks in the park.
The entire definition of school slipped from
our minds, traveled to dream depths, never to be

seen again.  It was easy for us to pose for doctors
for extra money, many who wanted to view
the insides of teenagers.  It wasn’t difficult

to disassemble as a jigsaw puzzle for bright kids
who always felt as if we left one piece out,
our gentle joke.  We decided it might be best

to fade away.  We scared children and adults,
even on Halloween, and there was a safe place
we could go where we wouldn’t feel different.

Our new neighbors were very quiet, and we tried
to stay very still, so someone could look at us
and believe that we were one of them, the undead.

If we stayed long enough we’d become as cold,
forget our ages, let time tell us we’re old.