A Body Made of Glass
by Steven Klepetar
There was a time when his hands held nothing
but rain, when sleeping seemed a blurry cloud
and waking meant a long, uneasy stride
into a body made of glass. He drank coffee
in the kitchen then, struggling with the image
of a black-haired child with a worried face.
How had she found the back door to that half-
remembered dream? She startled until she saw
how glad he was to see her, as if she were used
to being unwelcome wherever she appeared.
“But where is your sister?” he asked, as if
surprised that she had come alone. “The au pair
brought me here,” she said. “My sister had to go
to school,” or something like that, he wasn’t sure,
and then it was evening and he was by himself.
He missed her small step on the wooden floor,
the way she spoke like mist surrounding
bare branches of towering trees. There was a time
when his eyes burned in the smoke of fall,
when gray squirrels nestled against his basement
walls, when green snakes slithered through
the dying grass. It was then he heard woodpeckers
thrumming at a neighbor’s oak, a jaunty noise, solid
and real, a hearty tapping out of prophecy and hope.
Steve Klepetar’s work has received several nominations for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, including three in 2014. Three collections appeared in 2013: Speaking to the Field Mice (Sweatshoppe Publications), Blue Season (with Joseph Lisowski, mgv2>publishing), and My Son Writes a Report on the Warsaw Ghetto (Flutter Press). An e-chapbook, Return of the Bride of Frankenstein, came out in 2014 as part of the Barometric Pressures series of e-chapbooks by Kind of a Hurricane Press.