Let’s call your body cotton
coarse light may cause liver spots
with pressure or blunt edges it tears—— cobweb
spider silk veins purple on your thigh & on occasion
this—— may be a key survival tactic
for the day your body—— of say—— muslin
rolls to a shining room where an unfriendly woman
with a knife-tip filigrees a line thin as the crease
around your eyes & the fabric of your body
opens like the sky above Christ’s dying

up from the mouth—— of your pelvic bone
comes another body—–— crumpled flax
linen skin you made her—————–— soft
as the underside of a June maple leaf
& in that moment & the moments before
your skin a veil between you & her
so thin———— it could be a sheet of rain
we call it diaphanous—— a song
——–—you hover like a ceiling
a lamb’s coat wrapped round the shoulders
of God——- & as the cool-faced doctor
seals you with scar string
your body tent—— your body numb
your body leather ——your body stone
your body canvas—— your body sound

 

 

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Laura Traverse is a writer based in western Massachusetts.

 

 

 

Photo by Joana Abreu on Unsplash