Sport 41: 2013
Maria McMillan
Maria McMillan
Fatigue
I have to figure out fatigue.
I climb all day and spin and hold
my body in only the most treacherous
positions until I want to weep
with tiredness. I need warm food.
So now I climb. And when I can
do it no more I climb more. And some
thing stops me climbing and I override
the thing to climb again. Knowing
my body, its mass, when and how
muscles fail, the mechanics of it.
And the thing stops me and
I climb through the thing and
no matter how I try I can not climb until
I fall, over and over I try, thinking
I know what a body can do
and it can not do this.
Rope
The only thing I can possibly dois stay here forever, hanging
on with both hands, not ever
doing the next thing. I will
find a way to loop the rope
around me so when I sleep
I will not fall. Warm clothes
will be delivered.
Blimey. The wind is everywhere.
Most things live suspended
in matter as dense as itself.
We sink to the bottom like
weighted divers.
The perfect twist.
The nest of sleeping mice.
I’m still. I must move
all my muscles in the same
moment to be this still.
I think of the rope.
The rope disappears.