Who Is Here

When we believe we’re being

looked at, we often pose:

make a sweetly private fuss,

and straighten spines and toes

and smile like Mona Lisa –

summon up the faintest blush:

attempting to acknowledge

that hypothesis, the Other –

the odd idea that someone else

has agency to see us, autonomy

that isn't we, or me. You see,

my dear -- assuming anybody's

here whom one can call a dear

(who, in fact, is here?) -- we use

the Royal we. It's not unlikely

we've created you because 

(like God) we're lonely,

and we're all made out of me.

But we're very good at fooling us:

which means your really being

here remains a possibility.

We doubt, though, we will ever 

know. So it doesn't matter too

much if you come or if you go.

.