Sunday, January 29, 2006

for Rebecca

The knife is an odd tool
so unlike the needle, sutured shut.
When my father opens the animal
there is no blood, the body is a war--
invaded it holds on to what it owns.
Now there's a river. If I stand on one foot
my shoe will be a map, if I close my eyes
I will not understand. My father claims
you must count as you go, the heart,
the liver, even the tongue
because the body lies quietly.
And if I tell you now
I am the girl and somehow
the animal, will you let me find my way?
Prints are easy to decipher.
It's the sum of what's been taken
which remains unclear.


Radish King said...

I love this poem.

Dick Jones said...

I do too. Powerful & haunting.

early hours of sky said...

Thank you both.