Poetry Corner

[Oslo]

My Second Body

How else might I convince you
except to fix my lungs upon a pin?
Perhaps I need to bleach my bones, jar tendon,
or splay my nerves against a screen
and let you map their blue fragility?
Dear skeptic, I can lend you nothing
more than all of it: my knees,
their pocked exteriors,
my cheeks, my pores and frigid palms.
You will measure and do tests,
scouring my flesh with chemicals
to learn its every end and limit.
Even after all of this, you'll still deem it necessary
to hold in your studious hands
my breasts, those which
you struggle most to validate.
Really, all that you require
lies below my chest, beneath it.
Press your beating wrist
against my muscled heart.
Let the rhythms unify.
Then syncopate. Then unify again.
Bear witness to that pear-shaped thing,
that pump. Then, feel yours. Hold onto it.
Maybe now, knowing
my authentic body,
you’ll never again ask,
“What kind of a

are you?”