When second-grade Brendan told me
he could see through my underpants
with his cardboard X-ray Spex, I said
I didn’t care. My bones wouldn’t tell
how I really felt about pink-sweater Carol
and go-go boots Joan, who made me
unpopular in ten cafeteria seconds
by mocking my clumsiness with the tray.
I’d seen real X-rays, my private ulna ghosts
in a gray nebula, and the darkness of the crack
where all the pain spilled out.
I was no see-through girl, and neither illusion
nor technology could reveal
the scribbled secrets in my diary.
First published in Slink Chunk