Jeremy M. Windham
POEM WITH LIMB LOSS
I believe it
because there’s no
alternative, or
I believe it
because I was coaxed
then promised
into believing
one nerve at a time
by the body
I carry
it will outlive
its welcome
I believe it:
the pulse burning
deep in the marrow
of what remains
replaces each step
it took
to remind the flesh
what it fought
to survive,
and when it stops
it leaves behind the idea
of the body tearing
away, skin
and bone I grew,
I remember—
I believe it
in the worst way
with the best intentions
because lost
is inaccurate
and unfinished, a lie
I believe it
seethes, not settles,
sharpens,
not shatters,
carves out a space
in the mind where it can
I believe it
answers to no one
and from its own fire
emerges the ghost
of a leg, alive
enough for the brain
to dream
for as long as it longs
to be with or without me