Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsFall 2019  Vol. 18 No. 2
an online journal of literature and the arts
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Why I Left Academe for Massage Therapy
in gardening I thought this is it body and soul I am home
at last: excelsior: praise the grass: in gardening I fled the fold
—C.D. Wright, “Song of the Gourd”

Through touch I can say never mind our thoughts; I can say
by feeling we already know without hesitation
Through touch I can hear myself think with admiration
for the hallux and the spine
extol latissimus dorsi because it sounds like a charm
My days like my nights offer nothing for vexation
when weary I stretch or sleep between sessions
hungry I eat without heartache; I work for and by myself
through touch I earn more
Projects have stopped disappearing unlike the reading series
I am never met with apathy from others through touch
I can almost stop hearing the director admonish
I cannot support this; you just got married; you’ll get pregnant
soon; through touch I stopped giving up my work
to the ones with seniority
called off the excuse for what must fail
to be content as patted snow
as the dogwood as the crow crying out
from distant fields filled with cottonwood
seeds adrift in this channel of late growth
and tender light  

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