Friday, July 1

body / name

DON'T come in spite of it, and don't claim it's why you're here:
this corpse holds me in and down, but it is not what i am.
call for me in dreams and I will come to you as a ghost.
As a ghost I am kind, but in this solid world
I beg to be unfolded, plumbed, opened like a raw orange
rind cracked, arms gripped tight
gaping fishlike and you'll forget 
i'm so unlike what you're told to want.

it was my name you called at the gates,
me you summoned from your doorway, arms filled with need;
it was my name i heard you say, like a trumpet, like no other could say it!
out loud in the day. what if, what if you called my name
not to seek my help but to acknowledge me through; just my name
at night, whispered into your pillow, to make me full & whole, thick
and substantial - gone from a plume of smoke in a dream
to full woman, made of fat and magic, pliable in your hands and suddenly real.

but this requires texture and pressure and courage-
 (to press us white) so unlike the sick bouquet i once was
a wilting bowl of purple flowers on the countertop

 o, call my name under lamplights; better yet
send for me & hush
i will hear you.

don't come in spite of it; i'm sure
it isn't why you're here; but put out your hands
& learn and i can promise the putty you're given
will light up electric beneath you,
a sea of ecstatic slick stars

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