by a contributor
Mine is not a body people peep at.
So, until my husband
came into the bedroom while I dressed
and said, My God, close the blinds,
moving me out of the way by my hips
to lower the slats,
it had not occurred to me
to close the blinds at all.
People could see, he said.
His eyes were wide, I knew,
because he really
thought they would look.
Vicki Wilson’s poetry, fiction and essays have appeared in Family Circle, The Huffington Post, Newsweek, Writer’s Digest, Anderbo, The Southampton Review and more. She is a freelance writer and lives in upstate New York with her husband and son.