The Body Poem Project: Becoming My Elder

Becoming My Elder

I feel her in my feet these mornings on the hardwood floor,

Which wood presses up angry, pressing into my soles,

My toes smash together, in pain, assaulted.

I feel the dry husk of her inside my face,

And below, in my bloated torso, her belly bloats,

She lies below thick and satisfied.

I feel her in my hard heart beat,

Stiffening in her stiff anticipation of death,

My arms sagging enclosed in cotton layers.

I feel her in my craggy throat and chest,

Breath shallow, pain breathing behind my eyes,

She pounds behind my forehead, “Let me out!

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Shel Graves' Sensorium

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