You feel:
a blow to the side of your head,
the prick of a needle through your skin,
the wind blowing shards of ice against the back of your neck.
Your mind,
your thoughts,
your feelings
are tuned into your senses
– your body.
Your body
is your life.
But when that blow knocks you down
and you have the chance to study the rough grain of the dusty wood floor,
when the needle leaves you with a small pool of blood
and that numbing chill that spreads so quickly, like ice across still water,
when the wind has left you without warmth
and you’re left to wonder if the shards will at last cease to melt on your skin,
there comes a sneaking suspicion
– or possibly a lightning-strike epiphany
that, after all,
your body
is just a body.
2nd place in annual poetry contest
St. Lawrence University, 2013
marks in the sand 