Believe Your Hands When They Bleed
By Stefanie Leigh
Louise Hay, the late metaphysical teacher, described eczema as breath- taking antagonism, mental eruptions. The only other part of my body that used to bleed with regularity is my hands. Every February, the skin around my knuckles would crisp and I would line up my tonics. The Houston humidity and my mother watched in disbelief. Thirty years later, estranged from both, I rubbed a new solution into my palms as my husband cleared his throat in the other room, turned off the light, then asked me to come find his wallet. I squinted, strained, spun—until I fell. My hands buckled against the hardwoods, then flattened, steadying my torso. I pushed my feet and palms into the roots of my house until I was bent in two, then I rolled through my spine so slowly I was barely moving. Once vertical, I walked toward the front door, turned on the porch light, and left— my fingers leaving a trail of aloe on the steps.
Stefanie Leigh is a poet and ballet dancer based in Toronto. She holds a BA from Columbia University and was a dancer with American Ballet Theatre. Her work has been published in Rust & Moth, Syncopation Literary Journal, and elsewhere. She is working on her first poetry collection, Swan Arms.
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This morning I read early reviews of Prentiss Hemphill's new book "What It Takes To Heal" and then I received this poem of embodiment that beautifully, succinctly, illustrates the concept. Synchronicity always makes me pay attention!
I like how things are described in this good poem. All this business about the hands made for a interesting reading. The words chosen tell well the story.