Charm
Am I plastic enough. Did I
mold to the right shape—obedient
as water—feel hot, cool, smooth
to the touch. Was I flexible,
was I blue-green, and when dirty,
need just a slick of soap, and then
did I hold you in and repel
all else. Could I take it, heat, cold,
frozen, molten, could I
cover it up. Could I wrap myself
around what you wanted kept,
invisible almost, clear as ice. Could I stretch
and not crack, when I broke
could I break down to powder, to glitter,
to nothing, you hope,
to lace fish or bird or whatever
else except your flesh, could I stay
away from you, when told, get out
of your face. Was I buoyant. Was I
suddenly everywhere. Could I then
be recalled, remade, the strange
clear metal of myself come
back together in another,
fresher shape. If not,
could I just end. If not, could
I teach you how to bend,
to escape, to float—
