corpus (or, somewhere the body)

The body is heavy as any unwanted thing

but thrown in the river it rises.

Cuffed wrist-to-wrist to me

we sit on the mud shore

watch us come bobbing back up again.

Close my eyes.

Skin will do what skin does

and keep the water out;

flesh will keep fresh for a while.

Somewhere, the body

is holy is home

is warm-blooded gift

upturned wrists

a good meal when you’ve just come in from the cold.

Effie Beneviste is a poet, essayist and Brooklyn baby. A theology student, she can be found studying exorcisms at the local diner.