How to Tell If Your Body is Real

A Poem

Zach J. Payne
Oct 9, 2018 · 1 min read
“grayscale of cabinet” by Bui Bao on Unsplash

After Amy Sarig King, 2015

I can feel my bones. I have bones, I think;
it seems my skin is slipping, slack and pooling.

And what are muscles? Atrophy sets in;
I diminish, dust and empty clothes
carried on electric cool currents,
strewn across this living room.

Living? Yes. Dammit, I’m alive.
A dustpan, please. If I can’t be whole,
then give me the dignity of being in one place;
self contained, sweep me into grandmother’s urn.

She’s not here, but I am, I am.
I need the help. I’m still here —

if only by a flutter. Yes,
that’s the heart flying, myocardium intact
when everything else is gone.

Sweep me together and, heart beating,
I will rise from dust.

Poetry Palace

Your home for poetry on Medium.

Zach J. Payne

Written by

(He/They) Ninja Writer. Thespian. Queer. Essayist, poet, novelist. “In Search of Sunflowers” available on Kindle now.

Poetry Palace

Your home for poetry on Medium.

Zach J. Payne

Written by

(He/They) Ninja Writer. Thespian. Queer. Essayist, poet, novelist. “In Search of Sunflowers” available on Kindle now.

Poetry Palace

Your home for poetry on Medium.

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