Sara Tracey
From Issue 5
Stella Teaches Me the Body
because we’ve all been loved & demolished
–Jan Beatty, “Shower w/notebook”
–Jan Beatty, “Shower w/notebook”
I have no interest in a body free from scars.
I want to know where you’ve been cut,
where you first learned
the taste of fire.
Once, I wanted tenderness/a boy
who would touch
my face
as if it were made of glass.
I will not break. My body
was made to stretch.
I keep track of bruises in a spiral notebook.
#217: knees against cement
#329: I swear, he didn’t mean to…
Good morning? I am black and blue.
This is my body saying to me: no more.
Men are just flesh.
They whisper my name
so no one knows they need me.
Forget propriety.
I am not a vault.
What I take in I do not keep. Wear a hat/
tap shoes/boxing gloves.
Use a condom.
I used to be afraid
to say cunt, to say touch me here.
I used to be afraid to say no.
The first man I loved taught me
to use my body for revenge.
He never used his fists, but if you met him,
you wouldn’t believe me.
When I broke my nose on Christmas eve
kissing
an icy patch of concrete,
my mother wanted to call the cops.
He kept me
hungry/afraid
but treated my body like a gift
he was forever unwrapping.
Once, I loved a man who couldn’t see me
unless I crawled into his lap. Careless/reckless
a man with hands made for prayer
and demolition. I begged
him to notice. I left my front door open
so he could find me/enter/
where he wanted. When he was a child
his father hung himself. When he was a child
he learned how to leave people
wanting.
I used to want a man
who could make me feel small,
lift me like a gun.
I want to know where you’ve been cut,
where you first learned
the taste of fire.
Once, I wanted tenderness/a boy
who would touch
my face
as if it were made of glass.
I will not break. My body
was made to stretch.
I keep track of bruises in a spiral notebook.
#217: knees against cement
#329: I swear, he didn’t mean to…
Good morning? I am black and blue.
This is my body saying to me: no more.
Men are just flesh.
They whisper my name
so no one knows they need me.
Forget propriety.
I am not a vault.
What I take in I do not keep. Wear a hat/
tap shoes/boxing gloves.
Use a condom.
I used to be afraid
to say cunt, to say touch me here.
I used to be afraid to say no.
The first man I loved taught me
to use my body for revenge.
He never used his fists, but if you met him,
you wouldn’t believe me.
When I broke my nose on Christmas eve
kissing
an icy patch of concrete,
my mother wanted to call the cops.
He kept me
hungry/afraid
but treated my body like a gift
he was forever unwrapping.
Once, I loved a man who couldn’t see me
unless I crawled into his lap. Careless/reckless
a man with hands made for prayer
and demolition. I begged
him to notice. I left my front door open
so he could find me/enter/
where he wanted. When he was a child
his father hung himself. When he was a child
he learned how to leave people
wanting.
I used to want a man
who could make me feel small,
lift me like a gun.