Oct/Nov 2019 Poetry

Body Image Issues of a Human Centipede

by Morgan Eklund

Image courtesy of The British Library photostream

Body Image Issues of a Human Centipede

At the curve you move your hand
from my thigh back
to the steering wheel.
A cold spot left—
the shape of your palm
the shape of our continent:
How are you still self-conscious about
your nervous palms after all these years?

Out of the sweat you leave—
another leg grows and another.
Another leg.
Soon over 100—
Leg out of legs. Thick trunks.
Thigh against thigh against thigh against windows and doors.
I fill the car with so many limbs and shoes.

I'm taking up too much space
I worry I worry too much:
all the ways
I know this world
is just a body we'll never love.
But still
I want to fall asleep inside your spine.

and feel small
and not go to the grocery store on
God, it takes
so much energy to feed myself
so little.
It takes: so much hunger—
to let you want me.


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