Treason

I lost my body last week

so understand

this is just the voice speaking now, from loneliness

without the usual logic, or passion.

The heart and mind

left with the rest.

I think I may have left it in your bed

or somewhere around your room.

Perhaps, without noticing,

you packed it up with the rest of your things

and placed it among the boxes inside your van.

It bruises easily, so be careful.

The blood resents

the flexible confinement of veins—

even the single parts

are always seeking escape.

I know how to care for it, and all its desire to leave.

You don’t know; you always only pretended to know.

I miss it, or I wouldn’t bother you with the asking

but I want my body back now

if you find it in the car, your closet—

you probably won’t have to look long.

The only thing it doesn’t want to leave

is you.

I wake

in the middle of some nights, from dreams

of the voice calling its body home

although often it’s impossible,

in the near-insanity

as I shake off sleep

and recognize the real around me,

to recall if I am asking mine to return

or still pleading with the memory of yours.

E-mail: courtneyqueeney@hotmail.com


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