The Body Gives
Sometimes the body gives too much.
A tendon frays, the heart mumbles
and no one sees the damaged parts.
Ignoring pain, we continue climbing ladders,
sandpaper breath rasping the morning light.
Little bits of us crumble all the time,
yet we stumble on, pretending.
Then the body kills us with its enthusiasm.
Cells duplicate wildly, plaque explodes.
This enmity within? Defensive maneuvers.
Working alone, I wonder where I might end.
On the floor. In a field. Atop the bed.
Under the surface of a rippling pond
or drifting with smoke
through a snow-clad afternoon
at eight thousand feet. Among
the grocery’s tomatoes and squash
approaching the end of a long list.
At the bar, glass in hand, or in a truck
at a four-way stop, the radio blaring.
Time enough for speculation, they say.
But I wonder: when I jump,
does the earth always rise to greet me?
* * * *
“The Body Gives” first appeared in The New Reader Magazine, in March 2018.
O at the Edges 
Your poem is truly appropriate for these times.
“…does the earth always rise up to greet me?” Reminds me of the part in Douglas Adam’s “Hitchhikers Guide to the Universe” where a whale suddenly materializes above a planet. As it falls downward to its doom, it wonders if the ground rushing toward it is a new friend.
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Ha! I recently watched the movie, and that part was one of the highlights.
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I love this!
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Thank you, PJ. I hope this finds you safe and well.
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So far, so good Bob! Please take good care of yourself as well!
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Good to hear! We’re doing our best!
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The body kills us with its enthusiasm…too appropriate. All the words echo our hopes and fears. (K)
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This applies even to COVID-19, sad to say.
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I wish for my body to express its enthusiasm in ways more conducive to my continued presence. 😉
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That is my hope, too. It’s toyed with me a bit, but so far so good.
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Also, I wouldn’t mind so much if the moment (hopefully in a positive sense) gives me something to write about. Lately, even as I write, I feel like I’m in a slump.
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I’ve written “heart attack” poems, but “Covid-19” poems haven’t come to me yet. I think I need a little time for the seeds to germinate, so to speak.
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Our bodies are gate-keepers … at some point, the gate will fling open, the body no longer needed (or able) and individual essence flows out into the all. In theory, this is something to look forward to. But, as conveyed in your superb poem, that’s not how most of us think! Most of us wonder all these possibilities (perhaps in so-doing, stressing our gate posts toward giving way.)
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Nearly seven years ago I found myself in the curious position of lying on a gurney surrounded by people working to keep me alive. It was peaceful, and I was willing to accept my fate. Fast forward to the past month: I was not at all peaceful and willing to accept death with the recent bout of COVID-19. It’s not that I’m less curious, but life has opened up to me and I so want to explore. Funny how this happens…
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Wonderful that your life has opened into a new scene (as in play, as in locale) …
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It is indeed, Jazz. Even in this stress-filled strange time!
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