Allyson Wuerth
DIABETES: AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY
About my body–
its blood wound here
into a tight fist of strings;
something comes undone
dislodges from my throat
settles itself into the hard pulse
of footfall.
Or no,
not there,
not at all like that.
How the Greeks named it:
Diabetes–
to siphon off
another mythology born
from water
from earth and air:
my body funneling
a caravan
of ants
through its knotted tunnels.
One by one.
two by two.
They leave behind
only this river of piss
this pile of salt,
my body’s fault line
traced back
to the death of me.
A loose storm
that lifted my father
into the body of his own ghost
with the certainty
of a hawk circling
the sweet smoke
of birdsong.