Bare

 

Body Worlds Boston

Bare

 

 

The love of God is not a thing one comprehends

but that by which – and only by which – one is comprehended.

 

                                    Christian Wiman

                                    The Parable of Perfect Silence

 

It’s inspiring in an unkind kind

of way the way the body makes open

sores on the cracks and corners

of itself.  The heels, say, or lips.

With an itch sent ahead of itself

it saunters toward a soft pillow

of a blister and sits and sits

good dog that it is until

an eruption of blood until

soft isn’t

 

soft tell me what body isn’t

at last a mountain range & all her

blemish & split & boil all her crotches

where birds live in arboreal brothels where

offspring are toppled when

the time comes & the nest is

hefted from the twig & the branch

in the first sniff of wind

blade by twig by molted feather

is made again and again and again

 

it is made finally finally! bare