The Body’s River

A poem for Sunday

A hand reflected in ripples across blue water
Nanna Heitmann / Magnum

I was born for betrayal—
When my mother left me in the orphanage,

I invented love with strangers.  
And if it wasn’t there, I made it be there,

until the crash, the revelation.
They say blues is three chords and the truth—

And poetry is long-lined lies and a deep dive
into the body’s costly river.