Tanya Keenan
Entering the room,
I feel an artificial cool breeze blow against my skin.
I work from the top down,
Starting at my shoulders,
----------moving down my arms,
--------------------gaining in strength.
At the beginning of a set,
I breathe deeply,
----------sometimes closing my eyes.
I try to reach the center,
A place of stillness from which to spring into motion.
I move my body,
----------feeling the muscles’ resistance against weight,
---------------attentive to how my body moves,
--------------------and how my lungs fill (inspiration!),
------------------------------how they expire.
My favorites are the ones where I feel my body at its strongest.
Chest press,
-------seated leg press,
-------------- back extension.
Here I feel as if I am doing something good.
Here I feel my muscles struggle and burn, but succeed.
Here I feel alive.
There are others where I don’t feel so strong,
Or where my strength is buried beneath a different kind of pain,
-----------a wounding,
---------------a weeping,
---------------------a rage with no expression.
I fear letting it out,
-------letting it be heard.
Maybe it will simply crack me wide open,
But maybe it will crumble the walls,
-------shatter the mirrors,
--------------freeze the pulleys,
---------------------cave in the floors,
----------------------------and leave everybody in the room bleeding.
My body
------------------------------------------------------------[this stranger’s body]
-------------------------------------------------------------- --[this alien form]
Carries so much pain in the muscle tissue.
All its joints creak with my tormented transformation.
But the fat carries death,
--------and the death will not depart,
--------------and insists on dragging out its season.
I have no spring in this dead tissue,
-------only cold winter,
--------------which never leaves.
All I have means nothing next to this deadness.
The beauty of my soul is smothered by it.
I want to throw myself against rock or steel,
-------shatter my body,
--------------------[before, it was the only way to keep me from scratching out my own eyes]
--------------and then I want to pick up the pieces,
--------------------put myself together the way I was meant to be,
----------------------------and cast aside the unwanted layerspoundsdimensions of
flesh.
I know with my mind that this desire for destruction,
These hateful whispers in heavy silence,
Can never be fulfilled.
But my heart longs for the death of this body,
-------so that the body of the dream
--------------the strong body
---------------------the true body
----------------------------can be seen.
© 2002 Tanya Keenan