Anhedonia with Light & Lens by Jo Bear
Still, I throw light as a suggestion of desire.
Anhedonia with Light & Lens
after Kelly McCormack
From above, the body is nothing
but a pool of silk. I have tried—
being a body, having one—
but my hand pierced my abdomen
until I was holding myself at a new
hinge. Hollow, then. Still, I throw
light as a suggestion of desire. At dinner,
a man’s hand curls over my shoulder
to name what he sees mirage
& meal. I have only ever ached
to be emptied—to quench nothing
but the most desperate thirst.
Out of obligation, I have pressed my chest
along a lover’s & waited for her hands,
two flushed wings, to puncture my spine.
If I long to be outside myself,
it is only to rest the image: bed & absence.
Identity offers nothing material—renunciation
sits tender in my mouth but sweetens
no other taste. Again, bed. Again,
only the open window & the light
hitting glass—bright & ready for capture.
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