Allison Thung
FOR NOW
In this lifetime
spent primarily
pursuing pleasure
and avoiding
harm—amidst
sheets impossibly
silken, easily caught
buses missed due
to a refusal to run,
voices so soft they
require a gradual
lean towards
to catch every
word—so that
the senses are
smoothed almost
to dullness, I
ground myself
back into the
body with the
smallest and most
controlled of pains.
Every so often,
too-long fingernails
to the palm when
the fist is clenched,
or calculated
carelessness near
the mouth of a
cooling oven.
Which is to say,
afford me the
most minute of
consequences
accompanied by
absolutely no
permanence, a
sharpness so
blunted it is
metaphorical, if
only until I find
some better way
to recall that I am,
beyond soul and
sentience, also
embodiment.