I sing the body reclining

In the middle of doing redlines, which involves equal parts of cursing the editor, marvelling at my own talent, and being mortified at certain turns of phrase or concepts that I seem to have produced in some temporary moment of blindness. Drat it. (This always happens. Oh well. The Marquis de Sade never got edited, and look what happened to him.)

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It's the weekend. I like this.

The Body Reclining

I sing the body reclining
I sing the throwing back of self
I sing the cushioned head
The fallen arm
The lolling breast
I sing the body reclining
As an indolent continent

I sing the body reclining
I sing the easy breathing ribs
I sing the horizontal neck
I sing the slow-moving blood
Sluggish as a river
In its lower course

I sing the weighing thighs
The idle toes
The liming knees
I sing the body reclining
As a wayward tree

I sing the restful nerve

Those who scrub and scrub
incessantly
corrupt the body

Those who dust and dust
incessantly
also corrupt the body

And are caught in the asylum
Of their own making
Therefore I sing the body reclining

-- Grace Nichols