Tuesday Poem: A Meditation on Bodily Matters

Theo Van Rysselbergh 1907

Life Writes

on the body,
our bodies become
a road map leading us back,

back to other bodies,
to other times we might
otherwise forget:

the constellation of pockmarks,
pulling hard toward
your mother’s hands
busy turning dotting each one,
each one with calamine
into a game,

the scar high up
on your forehead
setting in motion
the branch a brother
bent back, then suddenly
let go of all at once,
the sting, the sting of a new scratch,

follow the winding stretch marks
and end up once again holding
a little squirmer, deep in your muscles,
the memory of how solid, each baby felt,
how unpracticed your arms, then how practiced,

the curve and sag of your breasts
conjure up years of cuddling,
the pleasures of lifelong love,
a nipple’s sudden tautness,
triggering networks,
yes, networks of yearning

the tiny scars on your hands,
the cuts and burns you gave yourself
as you hurriedly prepared
the family meals, the time your hand
caught and tore on a grate, as you lunged
to slap when you shouldn’t have slapped.

Stories the body tells over and over
to its ever present audience of one.