by Gabrielle Calvocoressi
Back into the body all the lightning goes
back into the body. Up through the crown
of the skull and round again like the Whip-It
at the fairgrounds. Pushing the boundaries
of the light body. Overloading the light
body. Silly bowl shaking above the bowl
of the skull, which is a bowl holding court over
bowl the brain. Bowl into bowl into bowl.
All the curves pressing together. Too much
light in the light body. Body of cattle after long
days of sweet grasses, after chariot ride and hug
tunnel that opens to the bolt to the head.
After the hook swinging the skin sack through
the air to the place they release the skin.
Skin ferried to the shop in Missouri or North
Carolina to be stretched, tanned, and cut
into strips that make the belts that hold the arms
down, the ankles back, the head steady.
So the crown may grace the head of those
who fight against its glory.
By Gabrielle Calvocoressi. Ms. Calvocoressi is the author of Apocalyptic Swing, The Last Time I Saw Amelia Earhart, and Rocket Fantastic. She is Associate Professor and Walker Percy Fellow in Poetry at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, and an editor-at-large for the Los Angeles Review of Books.