There are things my body is not telling me:
late nights and friends I’ll never meet.
The yellowing bruise on my hip.
Strangers who ask, Haven’t we met?
Pine needles threaded through my black knit dress
and I have not left the city in months.
Morning when my body thinks me asleep,
I listen to it work.
A soft-footed rummaging,
the slow sharpening of bones.
Suddenly, a femur thrust through thigh,
a door opened, the body no longer at home.
Dani Couture (Canada, 1978 -)
from Sweet. Toronto: Pedlar Press, 2010
To buy the book: https://www.abebooks.com/book-search/title/sweet/author/dani-couture/
RPO (Representative Poetry Online) is a project and archive by University of Toronto Libraries – you can browse poets and poems with multiple search criteria, including map.