Gesture

      for MW

The head bent back out of sight—neck twisted, 

Warped, wracked with lines of tension, muscles pulled 

Hard in strained opposition; the chest scalloped 

By shadows cast by some unknown source of 

Light; the breath held in its cage to make room 

For hands, their penetrating fingers, that 

Probe their way within to get a better 

Hold; arms fall from shoulder to palms that curl 

To grip ribs ready for the motion of 

An outward pull, cracking open body,

Breaking bones to set them in unwonted 

Ways.  What spills out is moist, soft and warm, so 

You almost turn away, though you’ve had some 

Part in this.  You don’t know what to make of 

All these pieces, wonder how they all fit 

There in the first place, worry what someone 

Might think if you were seen standing here with 

All this strewn about.  Tucking bits and parts

Here, under there, scraps in your desk, behind 

The plant, you try to go on with your day.

Sometime, much later, you come across these, 

Surprised at how very well they have kept.