By Cindy Withjack

 

I can see right through her shirt

I am her shirt as I watch her

My ability to be transparent both calms and disturbs me

I consider this as I billow and sway

I am her shirt and only I know this

I wonder if she can feel my eyes on her

the way I brush against her skin when her arm bends

sheltering hand on a coffee cup

lips burning

tongue tasting

I laugh when she laughs

She doesn’t notice

I allow the melodic rhythm to vibrate against me

for I am her shirt

and her chest

moves me with every inhale and exhale

 

Cindy Withjack is a senior English major with a minor in writing. She is a member of Sigma Tau Delta and the Humanities Club. Her work has been published in The Wildwood Journal, The Fourth Estate, The Best of College Photography, TheBurg, and The Huffington Post. She served on the poetry, nonfiction, and visual arts boards for this issue, and she was a copyeditor.