for Wil and Jane
Wake up, baby. Open
those baby hands. Stretch
those baby legs. Stretch
out that palsy. Walk
with an iron spine. Walk
with a spine like a tree. Walk
like a tree. Stretch
out that palsy. Use
both hands. Don’t forget
about the left. What
is the left hand doing? What
did the left hand do? Swallow.
Focus. Breathe. Don’t forget
to breathe. Sit up straight.
Good. Now watch my mouth:
Esssss, esssss. Put your tongue
behind your teeth. No—
behind them—
like a snake in a cage:
Snare, snail, snow. Swallow.
Mass, bikes, locks. Good.
Now, misses, disrupt—swallow,
synthesis. Good.
Lick the fluff off your lips. Stretch, stretch,
stretch out your tongue. Come,
you did so well—you get to write
a poem. No, not Mutapha—
Mustapha…
a snake in a cage. Tuck
in your belly. Strong body
like a bull. Eyes forward—
Zeno’s arrow. Forward, forward,
forward. Breathe, breathe, breathe.
Walk fast. Walk faster. Walk fast enough
to break out of that cage. Hear
the heart beating in your ears. Work
until the body burns itself pure. Stretch
yourself across the page. Where are you?
Keep reading. Keep studying. Keep coding. Oops,
you forgot your body. You dropped it here,
on the hardwood floors of Winter Terrace.
Your elbows are black and chipping—
lotion them without looking away
from the terminal. Don’t look. Look
away. Keep looking. Did you find yourself?
Do you want your
body back? You left it here,
on the mat—your core strength
belly up, tongue out, panting,
a white dog. Come, child, climb
the steps, balance
the weight, scale
the wedges, look
at your strange siblings.
Everybody cries. Push
the medicine ball—
strong body. Sisyphus.