Body Poem by Jenny Kalahar

My map, like a mid-century globe
Appears, at some distance
to be made of clearly defined segments of color
with writing at their centers
and more lettering
in black now fading along my rivers
flowing between the patterns
of the whole

My map, in high relief
shows mountains
marks oceans
with rings of fathomage beneath
Concentric circles, narrow or broad
raised yet smooth, my geographic features
all easily felt with fingers along my back

My map, climate hot orange
cool green
winds of change as arrows
color codes where I'm dry or flooded
freezing north and overheated at equator
all unpredictable, with disaster coming fast

My map, an atlas
opens flat, a depression at the center
dividing pages into geographies
changing my nationality
with each flip of strangers' fingers
a moistened thumb
searching, planning destinations
leaving me stationed at the table
using me
slamming me dust-billowingly shut
until I am worn, frayed at all my corners
and until my binding's come undone