Body of Render. Felicia Zamora
Читать онлайн книгу.
Love bold
In the month of not-so-thankful thoughts
On words: a Thanksgiving thought
RAW DELIBERATION OF CIRCUMSTANCES
Once you lie a lot, it’s like second nature
NO APOLOGIES TO AMERICA ANYMORE
In preparation for fiery climates: a poem to America
Mathematics of healing: a poem to America
In our nation’s capital or America is a poem
INFINITE DESIGN OF A MOUTH, OPEN
Due to the reflowable formatting of eBook text, viewing this eBook will provide a different reading experience than reading a printed edition. For the poet's intended rendering of these poems, please refer to the print edition.
Why are we here if not for each other?
—Claudia Rankine, Don’t Let Me Be Lonely
We, too, can divide ourselves, it’s true. But only into flesh and a broken whisper.
—Wisława Szymbroska, view with a grain of sand
Say it again—we are spared nothing.
—Yusef Komunyakaa, I Apologize for the Eyes in My Head
At the hand of other
& of desire; how we thirst below flesh, below cortex, below pelvis; the minute ticks we hardly keep at bay; how we often inside out; how we bells struck & our music resides first in body, then in {mindful this gap}; we bounce back to ourselves, to lick our own lips & feel the weight of our own motion & emotion: jellyfish in change of water’s influence; to be at the hand of other; say this too, desire; how afferent, we, always in lead toward; how we all nerves in gather, message message & our pupils dilate us; how we all wet & longing, cell to cell.
In our bundle
When we think of sticks, do we think tree; oh bramble of me; what part of us, scatters wind, becomes home to something other; how your skinny bones in drape, mulberry limbs; oh slats of light, ribs of; & dusk always resides in chest, in fissures between lobes where all of us lie temporal & disoriented, oh this piece of; suture back; yes a question, no no an answer; how skeletal the bark of us, word & flesh; I left me for you propped against the girth of trunk; how we shed ourselves over & over: snake bundled in snake skin; once, yes, once we were one.
In fall or other shitty metaphors for depression
When silence does not exist & the mind drapes in whispers; a creeping creep; clock ticks etch the eardrum; fingers to throat; how lightening in passage; how all this electrification in your chest; cave for sear, in remembrance live, live, live; ribs swell, just before; a growing presence of plead, o-h g-o-d, syllables strung in temporal lobe; how a world smells of Marlboros & whiskey & you adverse to your own life, crawl back into your jaw; & you lug your torso around on sore hips, oh wait of frost to blanket this dead of fall.
In the light of
Light exists, then, this November light; how we yellow in the dried, in the plummet; sun, gorgeous sore, tests the pupil in constrict, lips in part more more; say alive & feel it—inside all these organs & cells, how they animate