Wednesday, 16 January 2019

The last poem I wrote

March 2018

Vitreous Body

If I had an autopsy
done this morning
The doctor would
see bites on my ass
And hand prints
and the long,
Grooved hollow
of a cane mark

Last night I dreamt
I woke
With tattoos all
down my legs
a line of sun-bruised flowers
peonies and birds
and I dreamt
that you came
into the room—
my ex-husband
who knew me,
and knew me,
and turned away
from me
and I said,
I don’t know how I got these tattoos. I woke with them.

And he said,
You wear them well,
You’ve always worn them
Your muscles have worn them,
Your tissue, your capillaries
They were there from the moment
You were named.
You didn’t know.
And then you vaguely knew.
And then you
didn’t want to know.
And then knowing
Became living.

We were married
for eighteen years
I didn’t know what
I felt when I was
23 and I walked down
the aisle toward the
the man who would become
My partner, my co-parent,
My parent.
All I knew
was that I had to keep
Walking and where I stopped,
There he was.
His hammock made for me.
Years swaying on it
Through graduate school,
Through babies,
Through silence
Through knowing,
Trying desperately to unknow.
He knew.
You knew.
He saw.
You knew.

I wanted a hand to
Slap me.
I wanted
to be whipped
I wanted
to feel the broken
vessels the next morning
like aching
aching rivers
wanting to run but
Hitting a snag,
Eddying, oxbowing
There are flowers in my body
They bloom when

I remember to forget my name.


Jenny said...

What a powerful and beautiful poem, Megan. The composition, the voice, the imagery! I held my breath a long time while reading it.

Glad to see you here at Rufous Salon!

Ande said...

Hi Megan, so good to see you here! This one was evocative, moving and powerful. It resonated with me. Your poems always feel masterfully crafted.

Lise Larsen said...

This was heavy, and very, very good. Heartfelt and genuine. I agree with the other commenters. It was very powerful.

Jeremy Blomberg said...

Love the flow of this poem. The last stanza in particular is very moving.