She held, in beautiful unadorned hands, a hardcover book. She read it, regarded the room, reflected. Patient. The hardcover book sat closed and attentive reflected her, patient, as he explained to her the procedure. Sitting close and attentive, the light above washed her pale as he explained the procedure and what it would be like after. The light above washed her pale; her hair fell around her face. And what it would be like, after? She rested the book on its spine. Her hair fell around her face as she removed her clothes; she rested the book on its spine creased and split to center. She removed her clothes and became part of the table. Spine creased, she split to center, forefingers touching like a circuit. Once her spine was part of the table he inserted rods in her to open her. Her fingers, touching like a circuit, resembled the thin metal rods. As he inserted rods in her to open her she started to bleed. A machine with a sound resembling thin metal rods clattered like coarse windchimes. She started to bleed into the machine, which extracted a condition from her. And a clattering like coarse windchimes sounded in her body cavity. Emptied, her face a confusion of threads, extracted from the table, a conditional object, emptied of sound, her body an aching cavity, she arose. She arranged her limbs. She held herself, beautiful and unadorned. Someone had shut the book, her page was lost. He had left, the walls were quiet. She read the textured walls, regarded the room.
Arden Levine’s poems have most recently appeared in Cream City Review, Harvard Review, Indiana Review, The Lifted Brow (Australia), and Zone 3. Arden lives in New York City, and her daily work as an urban planner focuses on housing affordability, homelessness prevention, and equitable community development. Her chapbook, Ladies' Abecedary, is forthcoming from Harbor Editions.
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aw. Miami! I lived in Dade briefly. Just wish I could contribute; I already have mountains to read but will sub any road as we say in Yorkshire😬
I just tried to see what else I might enjoy (at swwim) but it seems I'm excluded by gender. Which is an oddity, since a good few of my readership are female. Why swwim? Well my most recent follower Marian had shared this verse. I'm afraid I've crammed so much in a few years (old bloke returns to written page) and my eyes are on fire:) so I'll read more later if I can... I lack knowledge on poetic tech so apologies for not waffling about iambs. But the language and perhaps subject handling remind me of Plath. Perhaps it was the time? Or again a gendered issue? It's in the way things are described, the economical direct and clever but not obscure choice of words - and their order. Still, I'll share as a note for any other female readers:), Yours etc, a bloke