Lisa Rhoades
BODY WORK
Years ago before a massage I’d tell
the therapist there’s a good chance I’ll cry
because my divorce now thirty years on
lives where the trapezius and rhomboid
overlap. A button when pushed that summons
my ex in youthful glory, me nearby,
both laid out like kids in snow but on
an autumn bed of gingko gold instead.
Why did we have a camera with us?
Who took the picture? Who processed the film?
I know when we split up I didn’t ask
what she wanted, nor did I guess
that the memory of how it felt to be
possessed would travel so deep, and stick.