1
No one records what the body suffers.
Just now the birds fly past
your window under cover of clouds.
The nurses prod and cajole.
Their voices caress your face.
They want you to stay.
They love you. The ones
who were here before
put their mouths on your skin.
2
Your skin is a map
of cream and red and blue-
black. Blood pools inside
and scars the surface.
Even the nurses are shocked.
I look but am not fazed.
I know the story. In the grave
it will not matter. If you stay,
the map will change.
These wounds are roads
and we find our way.
john mann poems 
Congratulations on “illness,” IMO another irreproachable poem. I like the strong rhythms in the first half–3s and 2s. I like the short, assertive lines. I like the tragic vision. I like the resolution in the last 4 lines and the neutrality in the last. Personally, the image of lines 7 to 9 sent chills. I’ve felt that in hospitals
Thank you very much, Steve. I worked on this one over time.
Best, John
Sent from my iPad
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