A Body's Divorce Poem by Colin Gilbert

A Body's Divorce



(For “The Amazing Johnny Eck”
a.k.a.“Half-Boy”)


A man is not built of parts.
He is whittled from a single wood,
whole. I am half of a set of twins
not half a boy. I walked on my hands
before my brother could stand.

I am not a broken doll or car wreck.
I am the pink elephant in every room.
To some, I am a breathing turtleneck.
A body’s divorce. An unopened dissection.
I have heard and told all of the jokes.

I save money on shoes.
I have plenty of leg room.
I learned to crawl before I could walk.
I had to pull myself up since the beginning.

Even birth certificates demand feet.
Mine shows a blood eel’s fingerprints.
Limp matchsticks.

I was nine when I taught a sparrow to fall
with one finger – my first magic trick.
It was the year I unwrapped a Daisy
air rifle - my last embrace with a gun.

Overtime, my brother learned to saw me apart
onstage. A manager cut my name in half. Speck
by speck I lost more of myself as a sideshow
than before I was born.

Rubberneckers paid their toll.
They wanted to witness miracles
or at least a death as casual as a man
untying his shoes. Carnivals grew
from my wrists. I learned, a hand stand
is the closest man comes to a grounded bird.

www.colinpoet.com

Monday, April 15, 2013
Topic(s) of this poem: star
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
This poem originally appeared in Washburn University's Inscape Magazine. It is a tribute to Johnny Eck, a legless sideshow performer who became somewhat famous during the early 20th century, though he led a bit of a troubled life.
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Colin Gilbert

Colin Gilbert

Overton, Texas
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