one body
by Hannah Butcher-Stell
the way we live is under pressure we / speak
carelessly we / forget this is our only body we
forget our head cannot travel / without our feet
in other words on the subway I point to you
across the aisle and finally say / what I’ve been
meaning to say / all these seconds since / you got
here you’ve only looked / at the floor...
my body is your body / yes oh yes I / am the right
hand / sometimes the left / sometimes the edge
of a fingernail / and you my dear / you are the collar
bone / or the flesh of the elbow / or the vein behind
the ear—
but together / but today / but always / on this
subway we break bread / you and I / we sit
in the quiet / in the screeching sound of wheels
barreling down / the Brooklyn Bridge or / some
other bridge / in this country or that
and the city lights sizzle / and then blur / into one
big firework / and in it we watch memories / of you
or of me / either way there is a child / chasing a cat
around a chair / and a woman’s hands growing
larger and smaller / in kitchens and in trees and on
top of sand / the head always shrinking / growing...
on the subway we wipe / our mouths now on
the other side and with / our hands spread open we
finally say / what we’ve been meaning to say / all
these seconds since:
Hannah Butcher-Stell is a writing MFA candidate at Sarah Lawrence College, holding a bachelor's degree in English from Rollins College. You can find her co-authored fiction in Sky Island Journal, Newfound Journal, and The Headlight Review. Meanwhile, her poetry has appeared on Poets.org and has also appeared in The Lehrhaus, Sequestrum, and No, Dear. She currently works as poetry editor of Lumina, Sarah Lawrence's literary journal, and as communications manager for a growing nonprofit.
