tHE GHOST BODY
EMILY HOCKADAY
Above the vagus nerve,
a bell with no clapper.
A field of wheat
spreads within. Somewhere
a body rises
composed of light.
Above the vagus nerve,
a bell with no clapper.
A field of wheat
spreads within. Somewhere
a body rises
composed of light.
|
EMILY HOCKADAY's first full-length collection, Naming the Ghost, was published by Cornerstone Press in September 2022. She is the author of five chapbooks including Space on Earth and What We Love & Will Not Give Up. Her poems have appeared in journals and anthologies including Poets of Queens, Newtown Literary, the North American Review, Cosmonaut's Avenue, and others. She can be found on the web at www.emilyhockaday.com and @E_Hockaday.
/// To be kaleidoscoped is to be broken into component pieces, shaken, and then arrayed in infinite different formations. /// This poem was written during a time where I was coming to terms with developing a chronic illness. At the time I felt like I was being haunted by these symptoms that were so hard to diagnose. The ghost body in this poem is my own, and this piece is somewhat of a companion to Naming the Ghost (Cornerstone Press). |