I wish I did not have to

by Waverley Vesely


               after Odani Motohiko's "Hollow-Reversal Cradle"


write about the body or how sight makes
objects once again familiar—clothes,
mirrors, light. So much of this in poetry. I am
tired. I am trying. I have written body
too many times, and it has meant
                                                     little else

than this: it looks the same.               Those sculptures—
suspended. Body passing out of body. Can we say
they are more than image? Can we say they
are the same body

                                           inverted in still motion?
There is meaning in this—
               I don't want to have to speak my body
               into vision or fear my mouth will make no sound.


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