Poetry Thursday this week asks us to write a poem that focuses on the body. Think, Walt Whitman. Now there was a guy who had no shame about his own body. I think he wrote about the body better than any other American poet.
On a scale that weighs things much smaller than old uncle Walt’s work, I tend to be a mildly physical poet. When I read this prompt, I thought of a poem I’ve already posted here. But, I wanted something that really puts it all out there. So, here’s a try.
It’s an act I know too well. I’ll pull
my legs up beneath me, cross
my arms, and push
into a corner.
While I haven’t become a great
illusionist, I can make myself disappear.
Perhaps you’ll reach out
and want to touch a body
you cannot see. It started
with food, leave the fat on the plate,
forget the sugar glaze, avoid, avoid.
And it worked, the body began to fall
in on itself, but never got quite right.
A sag here, a little extra there, and then
all normalcy stepped into the box,
and I sent it atwirl. Dizzy, stranded in a world
I couldn’t understand, I keep
the illusion going.