Jason Wee is an artist and a writer. He is a co-editor of Softblow Poetry Journal and the author of My Suit (Math Paper Press 2011). He lives in Cambridge, New York and Singapore.
Think of an older body lying on
top of a younger body.
Think of that body above waking up
slightly startled at the sight
of having slept with one’s long lost self,
the bed a time machine
bringing one back to another dark room,
when one touches a stranger
for the solace usually found alone.
Think of the body below
stirring, brushing its hands on bits and parts,
a pit of coarse hair, elbows,
ribs, returning to slumber, satisfied
with the evidence of flesh
careworn and starved, knowing the shape of
a self so disappointed
proves its power to unmake experience,
to ignore pain as it stands
for another year, hour, another song
passing. The older hums, stops.
When the body below wakes, will it know
those eyes it looks in on, or
nothing grasped, will it ask to be known
naked and seized for the first time?