Emma Anderson
2: Begin with the Body

the illocutionary act

i.

Metapoesis:

even a drop of fire feels like death.

Life is starvation,

interdependent origination—

the children chose the animal realm,

and the older folks chose sin and godliness.

In the beginning and in the end, it is

in your hand where you want to go next.
 

 

She told us

she heard

the Tibetan elders say,
 

 

“karma is circling the thumb”
 

 

the change is coming,

and whoever has connection with the karmic union will be reborn.
 

 

ii.

The story of my skin is long and involved.

as if the surface didn’t continuously flake off

and the entire structure of my bones

didn’t completely regenerate itself

in the course of ten years.
 

 

The story of my skin begins with remembering

the limits of my tremulous being.

A consciousness, embodied flesh—

sick, mewling lump turned night bicycle

high-glider on the sticky city streets.

Sometimes the story of my skin is burning into flesh,

fires made fickle

by the way lightning strikes.
 

 

And all too frequently the story of my skin is an invocation to violence—

the instrument for violence,

the victim and perpetrator of violence.

Sit funk in a room and locks will render me invisible.
 

 

So invoke the muse of mad revamping,

pinpoint people under stress,

situate the simple sequence:

creation consumption pollution,

repeat.
 

 

iii.

Such becomes the howl of the body as a bridge.

Beating the belly of the beast,

my even keel is breaking,

the story of my skin: constantly reconstituting.
 

 

And finally for the future,

should i ever again forget—

cinch your sails, girl, goddammit,

before the doldrums hit.