Bodies, Martha Zweig

Michael Diehl, Gorton Falls







Mirrored, I finger flesh into a face
an alter ego might assume, grab up whose limp
jacket to shrug
on, nudge down
crookedly into whose both boots.

Clueless in slush time & running
like low-grade fever, I pinch pennies stashed
in a pocket: loose change evermore
pitching for mama dollar.

Years yours & my sibling skins crept
& crawled the moments around to hours.
Fingerprinting we almost read
body language aloud: sex, death,

each of them both preposterous as every
mother’s child grasps instantly: everything
else stupefied.

Martha Zweig


Review by Massimo Fantuzzi

Words that chase each other and call each other in their chase. Poetry that links bodily, intimate experience, made of muscle memory, rustles and thrusts, and its understanding and disclosure. Assertion of self.

And how the sounds embody almost a parallel physical narrative, made of tunnels and openings, crossways and jumps and drops: when, like in this case, there is no sign of forced entry or ostentation, it works a treat. 

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