Cartography Of The Body
The Chest
the roof of the cavern is leaking again
i never notice until i’m knee deep
the maddening drip
knows it’s nothing compared
to the wail of the wind
whistling through my ribs
from miles above
pale light shafts in,
so thin i can see its bones shift
they’re hollow
like mine—
smooth stone and concrete,
empty roads leading back
to where i stand,
the cold seeping through
the soles of my feet
each breath would be deafening
if my lungs weren’t inside out
if my voice wasn’t staring
back at me
with eyes of the dead
and a broken neck
i watch the water rise—
one drop at a time
slow and steady
drip
drip
drop
i don’t know
which i fear more
the silence
or the echo
The Body
it's strange to think
that there was a time
when i was afraid of the ocean,
when i fought with bare hands
against every storm,
as if i could harness
the shape of the sea
through sheer will alone
i had forgotten
the implicit trust
that the water would hold me—
that if i fell back
and if i let go
the body would remember
that it was made to float
stillness nestles at my back
the sway of the sea cradles each limb
if i close my eyes
i can’t tell
where my skin stops
and the water begins
even when the winds are raging
there is a rhythm to the waves
a push and pull,
an ebb and flow—
a breath and sigh
that brings in the tide
as the body takes the shape of the soul
The Heart
in the eye of the storm
there lies a home
made of red brick and oak
gentle and tender
with walls that sigh
and arms to hold me at night
i hang up my coat—
leave my shoes at the door,
i sway with the beat,back and forth
the woods melt away,
the drip comes to a stop,
in the distance,
waves crash on the shore
stumbling blind through my body,
i always find my way back here—
to the place that was grown
in my mother’s womb
long before i was born
i walk over floorboards
that she placed with care,
past stones that are soft to the touch
every time they're torn down
her hands hold my heart
as i build it back up from the ground
The Limbs
arms overhead,
sun sparks fly as they stretch,
fingers blue where they brushed
the cerulean sky.
rivers and roads
unfold through the fields,
leading in from the fingers
and up from the toes.
my legs race over
silk grass and soil,
where the heart’s rhythmic cadence
lives in the muted vibrations
of feet thudding against earth
muscles ripple in the wind
and bend with the breeze,
as the soft, sloping hills give way
to the loose roll of the shoulders