If I could imagine not being watched,
it seems it would be another world,
but doesn’t everyone, even you out on
the center of the frozen lake, mid-January,
midstream, the fish hovering motionless
there beneath your feet, looking up, have
a watcher? It’s pitch-black, and it seems
at a time like this those fish might catch
sight of a red stone (like a red star) and
rush off, and you might watch the stars
alone, and tell them to look because this
is what it looks like from here and make
an X to mark the spot and talk out loud
and admit it, that out there–if nothing else—
it seems you are watching yourself.
–
–
Kathleen Weihe teaches developmental writing at Anoka-Ramsey Community College and lives in Minneapolis with her family. She has received an artist’s assistance fellowship from the Minnesota State Arts Board, a Loft-McKnight Award, and participated in the Loft’s Mentor Series in 2000. She graduated from Hamline University with an MFA in writing, and is seeking a publisher for her poetry manuscript, Selves and Gods.
