Paisley Rekdal

How horrible it is, how horrible

that Cronenberg film where Goldblum’s trapped


with a fly inside his Material

Transformer: bits of the man emerging


gooey, many-eyed; bits of the fly

worrying that his agent’s screwed him–


I almost flinch to see the body later

that’s left its fly in the corner, I mean


the fly that’s left its body, recalling too

that medieval nightmare, Resurrection,


in which every soul must scurry

to rejoin the plush interiors of its flesh,


pushing through, marrying

perhaps indiscriminately


because Heaven won’t take what’s only half:

one soul blurring forever


into another body.

If we can’t know the boundaries between ourselves


in life, what will they be in death,

corrupted steadily on each side


by maggot, rain and superstition, by affection

that depends on memory to survive?


People should keep their hands to themselves

for the remainder of the flight:


who needs another’s talent, good looks,

or insecurities?


Darling, what I love in you I pray will always stay

the hell away from me.

Found In Volume 38, No. 02
Read Issue
  • rekdal
Paisley Rekdal
About the Author

Paisley Rekdal is the author of a book of essays, The Night My Mother Met Bruce Lee, and four books of poetry, A Crash of Rhinos, Six Girls Without Pants, and The Invention of the Kaleidoscope, and most recently, Imaginary Vessels (Copper Canyon, 2016).