What
the Body Knows
Amy Watkins
The body knows the mind floats
free without
it, a little boat unmoored and set adrift:
no gravity, no metaphors, no signifiers
of perspective —“hands-breadth,” “man’s height,”
“dainty
as a woman’s foot” — Cinderella’s
improbable instep rendered meaningless.
The body remembers how to push
the pedals, stroke the crest of the breaking
wave, tie a double knot. Of the body only
can it be said, “When the time comes, you’ll know.”
In ninth grade your teacher
touched your shoulder.
Your body forgets his name, his
face, all
circumstance, but remembers his touch,
the surprise of its gentleness and everything,
everything turning.
Amy Watkins earned her MFA at