the sky has opened for me. the clouds have parted, offering me 

the whole of the sun. the reflection of life— i mean light— 

against each darkening leaf, each drying blade

of grass, each body present in the world

at least— each body within sight. i am grateful. 

i am covering my eyes out of shame. my tongue is lavishing the body of guilt 

until it is slick with my unclean spit. i invite guilt’s tongue to touch my body in return. 

it politely declines. i am grateful. my body remains touchless 

& distant. i could step into it, wrap my flesh back around what it is i understand 

to be self. the offering of presence is always there. i am reaching to & reaching for 

& reaching out & coming up empty. i am so grateful it hurts. this life, a gift 

unasked for. this body, a misunderstanding. the hesitant light stretching toward me 

& the shuffling motions my body makes to evade. i come across a life left & wish it peace 

in any form. i ask for many things i cannot name. i am grateful for my useless tongue, 

the words it manages to find. i strain my palms to their full extent. work the tendons beneath 

the skin like rubber. there is a point before the inevitable snap that i test

keep taut until i must let go or discover what it is on the other side of my body’s limits. i am grateful 

for the fifty four bones my hands carry within. the twenty eight phalanges, distal & not. 

the way metacarpals move as thumb reaches to pad the flesh or hook the mouth 

of a fish, the fleshy barbels. those delicate limbs encased in soft. i am grateful for the soft

for the flesh, for the fish, for the bones. i weigh the words i’ve kept on my tongue. i reach for those 

i’ve let go. i am grateful for my mouth’s weight bearing capabilities. balance 

whispers something i cannot hear. i am grateful for the distance that keeps me 

from hearing. an excuse if ever there was one. i reach for a plate of porcelain, push aside 

the image my mind conjures in response. a shard comes only from breaking. 

a break comes mainly from lack of care. i am careful. i am grateful & quiet. 

my thumb depresses a mechanism that releases a blade that will eventually tell me 

the contents of my blood. i am rarely made up of what i should be. 

i press a square of cloth soaked in alcohol against what welled from within. 

i close my eyes. chase an image that will never be reached. discard my body’s unclean remnants. 

i am grateful for what i can let go. i smooth the skin encasing my bones. i trace the contours 

of my imperfect flesh. i press & prod & pinch & pull. i grasp my thigh tight between my hands

a heavy fish caught between the jaws of a bear. i smooth the fine hair on my thigh as if 

it were fur. i turn away from what has been offered to me. i find the limits of my body. i am grateful

for my body. for its limits. for my knowledge of them. i bring the blade as close to my skin as i can bear. 

i cannot bear it. but life has a heavy grip on my useless heart. it beats until it doesn’t. i am grateful. 

i am willing to wait. to find the time it will take until it doesn’t. i am counting the seconds. i am waiting 

for the sky to rescind its offer. it will not rescind its offer. i am grateful. 

i am guilty. i am spiteful. i am, for now, alive to say this.