Somebody Stranger

August 17th, 2014 § 0 comments

 

It’s been 25 years and

my body is still a stranger to me.

Brushing fingertips feel like glancing trains

Adjusting my breast, I am caught off guard.

I do not inhabit my body

As I do my couch on Sunday mornings

As tomatoes inhabit the smell of summer’s night.

 

It’s been 25 years and I still

have the sense that my brain is dragging around a person

bagged and fighting to get free

inside, roving toward boundlessness.

 

My eyes like flashlights in the dark

catching restless just out of sight.

 

Each morning I whisper my hands awake

so they may collapse my frame

inward toward oblivion every night.

 

In another 25 years

may I lay claim enough to

wiggle my toes and pump my arms

as though I were alive

as though there were

no stranger

between our minds

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