This is not my body anymore,
just foreign territory, invasion so total now,
there’s not one organ nor patch that I control.
First, minute infiltrations
of well disguised spies, those pseudo
friendly beings were easy to accept,
just small accommodations made to allow
sharing this joint or that crevice.
Giving over local governing of some minor
jurisdictions: sagging skin, blurry eyes, acid reflux,
was just lessening the burden of running my carcass
that was always in for servicing.
For awhile, I ordered a wrist,
an ankle, the odd spare rib
to behave, but soon even these minor offices
were removed from my regulation.
Wayward guts and rebellious lipid deposits
did their own thing.
I don’t really inhabit this body,
maybe just need the idea of having head,
heart and limbs; so mingling with others
I sometimes visit this shattered shell,
stuck together with stitches here and there,
with some semblance of upright posture achieved
by space-age designed and out-of-this-world priced
underwear and underwire.
Now I don’t even recognize myself
on occasional drop-in appearances,
just to see if improvements have happened –
to try out a dance step or two,
sway side to side, even a deep knee bend,
as opening jars and doors befuddle me,
hands can hardly clasp each other
– except in prayer.
– Bernice Lever
