Duplex for my body
E.M. Davis
The body closes its ears,
won’t bring itself to heel.
The blister on my heel is plump and split
open like an overripe gooseberry pearl.
As a child, I gorged on sour, green gooseberries.
I abandoned my plans to live a sated life.
I deserted my plans to shrink before I was forty.
This one makes for a hungry beast.
This beast is a sound I can’t place
inside my mouth, trips itself, ties a tongue.
My mouth trips and falls inside a word,
each vowel a lung in exhale,
each vowel a –
the body closes its ears.