Improv 1, Week 8

“Myth” by Natasha Tretheway
Form of, and the line: “I was asleep while you were dying.”


I was asleep while you grew, your toes
buckling tips of shoes, knees creaking, scars
sinking from calf to ankle, still hiding from
shin. Fingers long, you grazed your own
chin, bottom lip. They cracked between
eight and nine a.m., splitting, splitting. You grew,
hips spreading to me. I never understood
women, their bodies like politics. Your new eyes,
no wider, but bigger in the morning said, No, not again.

No wider, but bigger. In the morning, you said, No. Not again.
Women. Bodies like politics. Your new eyes,
hips spreading to me. I never understood
eight and nine a.m., splitting, splitting. You grew,
chin, bottom lip. They cracked between
shin. Fingers long, you grazed your own,
sinking from calf to ankle, still hiding from
buckling tips of shoes, knees creaking. Scars.
I was asleep while you grew.