Bucket List: A Rebuttal
Life
tallied in vitro.
Shall we compare? Paris? Hang-glide?
The altitudes touristed in fragments of to-do.
Next year, maybe, time will stretch in all
directions. Projected forensics,
stomach-content divinations,
Paul McCartney’s autograph achieved?
Check!
Life,
meanwhile, life
in vivo, untallied.
Amateur
(lover of), my dad played trumpet
(for love), practiced Carnival of Venice
red-faced, triple-tongued, straining for
the son-of-a-bitch notes, intonation
fickle, his time passable,
evolving skills unfinished. Then
Stardust:
elongating phrasing, push and pull, the throated
lows inside the bell breathing liquid into speech
through tight-lipped embouchure. For love
the spit valves open. Saliva needs a floor.
Crowds of cloud block the sun and
only then you feel the day’s fresh air,
flick your tongue, catch the taste
of suet balls, fox tail and dung.
The sweet, domestic brine.
Masking-tape holds the tumble zone
in place. A slug’s trace binds the rest.
Here’s a list:
his organs shared.
Kidneys
Liver
Parts unwasted.
Heart appointed,
travelling, still warm, same as in
—goddammit—life.
Hypochondria: A Memoir
Somatise your expectations.
They belong in the body
along with your words,
blood, hives, nerves. Like ivy
ropes they dog the brick.
You’ll find comfort in portent.
The skin is kinder when rapt
by your tender attentions. Try not
to see your doctor nor rely
on loved ones. They will tire—
have tired—of your rapid heart
rapping alarms on pin boards,
raising the banns on Monday’s
aches, the recumbent pains.
Consultants, rushed, dismiss
complaints. Distracted tattoo
artists get the spelling wrong.
Humour helps. Hindsight, too.
That trick of light? The short end
of your cigarette. The lasting cough?
Your better judgment
blowing smoke, tricked again.
But how?, you say. We’ve come
so far, my roving arthralgias
and myself. The bones! The merits
read on warts, the scalp’s
follicular debit! Speak
only this. Your evidence,
hidden abscess, Achilles
love a crippling knot.
A diagnosis, that.
___________
Merrie Snell is an American writer, artist, and academic living in the wilds of Northumberland, England. Her work has appeared in The New England Review, AGNI, Cimarron Review, Rust & Moth, and elsewhere. She teaches music at Newcastle University where she’s trying to resurrect the word ‘groovy’.
These poems were chosen by Anthropocene Guest Editor HLR.
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