What the Body Told

- Rafael Campo

Not long ago, I studied medicine.

It was terrible, what the body told.

I’d look inside another person’s mouth,

And see the desolation of the world.

I’d see his genitals and think of sin.

Because my body speaks the stranger’s language,

I’ve never understood those nods and stares.

My parents held me in their arms, and still

I think I’ve disappointed them; they care

And stare, they nod, they make their pilgrimage

To somewhere distant in my heart, they cry.

I look inside their other-person’s mouths

And see the wet interior of souls.

It’s warm and red in there—like love, with teeth.

I’ve studied medicine until I cried

All night. Through certain books, a truth unfolds.

Anatomy and physiology,

The tiny sensing organs of the tongue—

Each nameless cell contributing its needs.

It was fabulous, what the body told.

from: The World In Us: Lesbian and Gay Poetry of The Next Wave. Copyright 2000.

Lost in the Hospital

 - Rafael Campo

 

It’s not that I don’t like the hospital.

Those small bouquets of flowers, pert and brave.

The smell of antiseptic cleansers.

The ill, so wistful in their rooms, so true.

My friend, the one who’s dying, took me out

To where the patients go to smoke, IV’s

And oxygen in tanks attached to them—

A tiny patio for skeletons. We shared

A cigarette, which was delicious but

Too brief. I held his hand; it felt

Like someone’s keys. How beautiful it was,

The sunlight pointing down at us, as if

We were important, full of life, unbound.

I wandered for a moment where his ribs

Had made a space for me, and there, beside

The thundering waterfall of his heart,

I rubbed my eyes and thought, “I’m lost.”

from: What The Body Told. Copyright 1996.