Anne Kaier
FORGIVENESS
When I was newborn,
they tore a layer of half-dead skin
off my eyelids
so I could see.
Around my temples,
the thickened epidermis had driven roots
into the quick.
In my dream last night,
I bent over a woman lying on a gurney,
pregnant with my child.
Her burnt face puffed hollow
but her scalp gripped her head
like the chainwork hood of a medieval knight.
You'll be alright, I whispered.
I've been in your skin, too.
Is this the truth? Have I at last recalled
my own, flayed infant flesh?
Have I freed my body from mute memories–
and does it matter?
I shrank from my own skin for years,
withdrawing like a wave that leaves a yellow foam behind.
But my body waited for me all this time
till now at last I reach for kisses
like the naked baby in her crib.
A Pushcart Prize nominee, Anne Kaier's recent work, in poetry and nonfiction, appears
in The Kenyon Review, The Gettysburg Review, Bellingham Review, Paradigm, Tiny Lights, Under
the Sun, The Journal of Investigative Dermatology, Philadelphia Poets, American Writing, and
other venues. Poems and an essay are included in Beauty is a Verb: An Anthology of Poetry,
Poetics, and Disability, which is on the American Library Association Notable Books list for 2012.
Her poetry chapbook, InFire, was published in 2005 and her memoir Home with
Henry in 2014. Holding a Ph.D. from Harvard University,
she teaches literature and creative writing at Arcadia University in suburban Philadelphia.
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