Internship

My belly is swollen

It throbs like the Adam’s apple of a man,

who curses the tears

if and when they fall

This belly is buoyant

It neither sinks nor rises above the ribs of safety

and like a vest,

they prevent the swell from ever crashing

My belly is uneven

It bulges and bends to the shapes of the stories of Eden,

where genitalia was blamed,

and nakedness meant violence

This belly needs to scoff gravity,

resurrect itself through the small passageways

and through the tunnels of breath, tears, and sounds

Bleeding words into the stuffy space,

which has called most things into an amnesiac existence

Will my conduits for feeling be large enough?

Will they rip and tear because the belly held too much?

Will hysteria find me, since answers are nowhere to be found?

Would it be better for me to swallow harshly?

Would it be better for me to stumble drunkenly?

I wonder from time to time if this profession asks too much of me

And, I wonder most of the time,

if I can be apart of this for the rest of my life

Because I want to be

oh God, I want to be

I know this task will push me to the edges of my grave

I know I might fall in or wobble with great fear, yet

their hearts send down their stories as Rapunzel let down her hair

and I will blindly, often, grab hold and pull myself closer

with memory of what cannot be forgotten or pushed away

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Filed under le regard, poetry, throb

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