What the Body Gives, Gravity Takes (Cento)
As if what we wanted
were not the thing
that falls,
as what was given
to answer ourselves with – air
moving, a stone
on a stone,
something balanced momentarily.
Or wheels turning,
spinning, spinning.
The waters would suffer
at being waves,
but nothing of their dream
takes place,
nothing that is complete
breathes. But the world
is peopled with objects.
You grow smaller,
smaller, and always
heavier.
You can think of nothing else.
Credits:
Jane Hirshfield, Gustaf Sobin, George Oppen, Joy Harjo, Alberto de Lacerda, Jacques Dupin, Francis Ponge, Denise Levertov, Jacques Roubaud.
* * *
“What the Body Gives, Gravity Takes” appeared in Issue Four of Long Exposure, in October 2016.
O at the Edges 
That last line hit me particularly hard.
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Me too…
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Jacques Roubaud’s line, I believe. I wish I could take credit for it.
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It works very well in your poem.
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so true
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Thank you, Beth.
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This has me I’m puzzling over “heavier” not as physical heft but emotional load, weighing my perspective on literally everything (self and surroundings). There are pluses and minuses to aging, accumulating a load, balancing often a challenge, no good way to set it down and rest awhile.
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I am sometimes a tad tired from the loads I’ve accumulated, but then I realize that without them, I would be much diminished. Oh, those pluses and minuses!
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