Thu, 22 November 2007
Bodies This body slid into the world with perfect limbs lungs . . . and innocence for years it did all the things bodies should do moving breathing crying cringing from bumps falls burns bleeding touching he sweet the bitter he sour salt sleeping under blankets and beneath stars seeing objects and plants and animals hearing music and voices and clicks and creaks Maybe we don't enjoy the way our bodies hurt or give warning or the rough hands that press into our ribs the bite and itch and burrow of feeding insects the way cold can be too cold or hot too hot and how viruses make us ill when do we learn we're not to love these bodies? their colors their shapes the sounds they make? the marks and scars that hint at our most dramatic stories? we conceal our bodies some of us even keep out the lights so our lovers will not judge our bodies as harshly as we do ourselves those who remove their clothes have the bodies we're supposed to have implanted liposuctioned rhinoplastied bo-flexed waxed like fruit in a display ad how do we come to be conscious of bodies and then despise our own? these bodies that entered the world to do the things that bodies do . . . these bodies that cook everything we can ever taste of life (c) 2007 Binnings ALL RIGHTS RESERVED |
Sat, 17 November 2007
ODE TO A GLEN Come now into the shady glen with the ferns underfoot a brook enters from a mysterious opening in the dark soil and tumbles rock to smooth stone the leaves shift to allow dappling of light over the old log we sit upon in this quiet place where so much happens without words take in the scent of humus and yesterday's rain fingertip to fingertip we breathe in a moment that cannot be revoked (c)2007 Binnings ALL RIGHTS RESERVED |