Katherine: Cross ExaminationIs it true that bodies are bomb casings, engines to surface rich men's floors with granite, ![]() heaven's holding pens, and canvases for giddy torturers who know the special shade ![]() of each part's cruor, and scythes we rock until fields are baled in the beds of dusty trucks? ![]() Is it true that we are marrow-filled and pulse with blood, that our minds ![]() are built to suffer, are tortured on the rack of government, grief, regret and work ![]() so that our hands may tingle, our pupils dilate like racing trains rushing toward spectators ![]() at a crowded line, that when barstools folded us together you slyly smiled as if we shared ![]() a secret—a star so distant no one else had yet discovered it, a citrine coast ![]() where we could lie with only gaudy crabs for company until our skins were glossed and slipped over each ![]() other like breakers washing wet sand? Do you know enough of love to understand, ![]() or have priests and politicians persuaded you that love is adolescent ![]() hand-holding, old couples slumped across their smudgy newspapers, or brief attacks ![]() before men roll over in the dark? Your mind cannot ignore ![]() its vessel any more than astronauts can abandon ship and wing off to the moon. ![]() Our bodies are our brains— any sculpture worth a cent ![]() will tell you that. Here is something women know and generals locked in war rooms and poets ![]() blasting tunnels through Parnassas: we are horrible in any state but bliss. |
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