April 3 Poem: When the Body is Angry (3/30)

In my case, it is the belly.
Always. As if my every hope
and fear is held there. As if 
my every nerve winds around
there. It will not be ignored,
cannot be ignored. But sometimes
it is the shoulder. As if all that
I bear leans there. As if all my
struggles wrestle there. 

In my case, it is also the fist,
the lashing tongue, the 
uncontrollable stomp. 
Once it was deeper inside, the
anger. In this case, it was
vindictive. It was plotting.
It was punishing. It required
surgeons and treatments,
It was scarring, irreversible.

When the body is angry, you listen. 
You must listen. Listen 
for the tiny creaks, listen 
for the whispered moans, listen 
for the happy humming, listen
for the fracture, listen
for the break, listen
for the fissure, listen
for the rebellion. Listen
when the clots form. Listen
when the cells conspire. Listen.
When the body is angry, listen.
You must listen.