The Body-Prison

"You don't have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body." -C.S. Lewis

The body-prison, thick with limbs,
a captive kept within, begging for freedom.
The stomach begging similarly
for cups of tea and spoons of honey
down a tender esophagus from
a mouth made of sandcastles.
Just get me out of here,
my screaming soul, for a home
without bones. Let not blood
hinder and hold me back.
I can't fit these legs in pants.
The shoe won't take my foot.
I would give all my appendages,
all the sinewy muscles,
the tissues of human life
to break from the restraint
of my soul's complex coverings.
I want to be the escaped convict
on the run from physicality.
Give the bars no more strength
to keep me locked inside.
My heart pounds at the walls,
beseeching someone for the key.
No more pleasantries. No sympathy.
I will take no more pills.
Just get me out of here.

Reviews

[L West]

Katie, the imagery in this poem is heartbreaking. I love the line, "a mouth made of sandcastles," because though it's an incredibly specific way of describing how the narrator feels, I completely understand it. And i absolutely adore "for a home without bones." We get a really fantastic sense of structure and physical entrapment. I love it. The only thing I wonder is: could the poem take a turn toward the end? We follow the narrator's tired, angry soul, and then a brief mention of "pills" - how do the pills operate? I'd love to see that explored. A great work, I am so impressed.