When I was small I thought horses

Were bald creatures,


Smooth as my plastic ones. How strange

When I saw one up close, stroked


Its shoulder, found it furry like a tall rabbit.

My body also was strange to myself,


All downy arms and legs, gentle

Fuzz of face, innards soft


Under skin, subtle and insidious.

I could not bear to get close enough


To see if I was the only one

Afflicted so. At a distance


My defects remained invisible

So I practiced being always


In the background of the picture,

Distant enough to be hazy, small


And malproportioned by perspective,

Approaching the vanishing point.

Amanda Hope is a poet and librarian from eastern Massachusetts. Her work has appeared in cream city review and is forthcoming in Spoon River Poetry Review. She has two degrees, in subjects that have nothing to do with creative writing. She enjoys riding the subway, scratching various animals behind the ears, and wearing magnificent boots. You can find her on Twitter @AmandaHopePoet.