For Karen



This isn’t the body I wanted,

sickness in my blood river

that’s sunk the bravery rafts

that patrolled my surrender

and kept my coward in check -

so my puny hands

could steady the coffee mug

in the mornings and pour

your rich brew to its brim –

so my fingers could comb your

arm like a good lover that won’t leave

you inhaling alone.

I think you know

this isn’t the body I wanted

when I run my brittle nails

through my hair like the TV model

and create another spot balding for you-

you to kiss while I sleep in gasps

for your breath in darkness.

Baby, this temple is quaking

from the inside where the choir-

lungs used to sing and the preacher-

heart used to preach,

now has dust coated hymnal-

veins and mold frosting the bell-

throat that loved to ring sweet

in your ears.

This isn’t the body you loved

when your eyes swept this holy

cathedral like a sinner

in need of saving.

My church-going cells

have backslid against

the time we promised

each other…

This isn’t the body we wanted.