Lindsey Holland reading her poem “It Comes To Blood,” at Napa Bar, Prague, 26 August, 2012. Click the image above to launch the video. Read the poem below.
IT COMES TO BLOOD
And not in here, no, don’t swim
across the wheat to the kitchen window, don’t block
the sun she cuts; it gives way
to her paring knife each morning. We’ve watched her peel
apples over breakfast, switch
to tea without milk, lose weight and yes,
cough but she’s always lit the same, the condiments
in rows on the tray by the sugar bowl
and the souvenir spoon she bought
when we toured the south coast. You must not come
to hear her gluing words like scar and lung, to throw
such shadows on her skin. There is no right
time for the wrecking ball; you must not come
across the wheat to the kitchen window, must not
swallow a particle, move a thing. We’ll seal the cracks
and pray to stem cells. It’s easier this way.
Annie Brechin reading her poem, “Choices,” which appeared in the August issue of B O D Y.
Video shot by Matt Agan