[Inside my body] ii.

After Tada Chimako

On my stomach, I slip inside
the snowfort formed as my
hideaway. On my back, my body
is one with the ice. Death
is never near, I think I thought—is a
death near a seven-year-old’s soft
reluctance to leave the wintry
pleasure of worrying a wart?

Notes:

This piece is part of the Ruth Lilly Poetry Prize portfolio in the October 2023 issue.

Source: Poetry (October 2023)