Carole Glasser Langille
The Body
You became old
behind my back, the wind
breathing down my neck,
fear grabbing me by the throat. But first
you handed me the world.
With every breath, applause
and wreckage. What’s hard to face?
what’s left unsaid as the past strong-arms,
the future tongue ties, spits out.
Even the present, ringing, ringing,
explodes the heart, starts and quells.
On good days I know the body
is a clapper hitting time’s bell,
splitting the self into cells and the self from itself
and I don’t mind what I’ve left
or what lies ahead.
Page(s) 192
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