At the end of a long day, I step inside and,
with a swipe of my feet, dry off my shoes
with a shrug of my shoulders, take off my coat
with a flick of my wrist, take off my hat
With a twist of my soul, take a step outside
of this mortal coil, instrument of toil
I pan around to my face, and observe
the way that my face looks so foreign to me
When you’re not in a body, it feels like a thing
in a way that it’s not when inside it
When you’re not in a body, you’re free to explore
In a way, you see more when beside it.
The curve of my arms, the blade of my cheeks
the small ways that things don’t make sense
Were I carved out of marble, I’d be made differently
And be referred to in the past tense
It’s strange, almost cruel, how yet I am bound
to a puppet that I can be out of
Think of what sort of redness would form on your skin
Were you chained to your car, shirt, or mattress
With that thought in mind, the stranger and I
make peace with each other once more
With a tense of the thigh, I take a step forward
And take a step forward,
And take a step forward,
And take a step forward,
And ever it is to the end.
oh, i love this
especially the second to last stanza ("what sort of redness")