Kristen Bulger: Triptych of the Body
Triptych of the Body
Never room inside another
and make claim. Surely,
there is a hell of the body,
and you,
the girl, having your own,
straddle a place
neither heaven or earth,
but carry that burn around with you,
and find only a dirt mouth
empty of its jokes
to rush towards.
You’re like the white bedsheet cast out
as a net to catch
the falling wind— it catches
nothing. Even with everything
alive
in the streets, you go colliding
among the people living
with grassy heads, and the streetlights
on early that pale the pavement
with blurred leaves while
cold rain steadies itself to stillness.
Not another day longer could you stay
in the closed cabinet
of the cabinet of the body.
Here is the speckled wince
of the woman
who waits by the bus stop—
a pieta who cradles
the empty air
like a flour sack
in her arms— she says
do you see this body dying?
Do I?
Kristen Bulger is a poet from New Hampshire and currently lives in Boston, MA. She is a graduate of the MFA program at the University of New Hampshire. Her work has appeared in Salamander, Superstition Review, Houseguest, and elsewhere.