I saw myself late in the pharmacy pane

I saw myself late in the pharmacy pane,

a ghost in the glass through a drizzle of rain.

My neck was a hook and my chin was a lead,

carrying all of the things I haven't yet said.

At the desk in the morning, the boss took a seat,

and I tried to be straight and I tried to be neat.

But pulling my shoulders back felt like a tear,

a muscle protesting a decade of fear.

The cotton is bunching up high at my nape,

a fabric reminder of my failing shape.

I’m folding inward like paper and glue,

hiding the parts that are broken and blue.