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It is in the curve of my back
when I lie in bed;
it is in the way
my knees
meet my chest
and how my hands
almost touch my feet
as I reach out for that end of me.

This twisted form that I make
as I try to sleep has no resemblance
to anything in nature.

It is there in the tension in my spine.
It is there in the almost-breaking of it.
It is there in my open mouth
and the difficulty of my breathing.

It is there in how sleep evades me.

It is there,
can you not see it?
Between the trembling
and the convulsions
and the loss of breath;
every night.

Every night, it is there,
these symptoms of loss.

This is the new shape
that you gave me
on the night I never saw coming
and words were said
that shattered bones
and punctured hearts.

The architecture of our bodies
is drawn by the things,
and the moments,
that we choose to define us.

© Wanggo Gallaga 2013

*****

This is our second piece from Wanggo. In it, the reader can see the question of mortality being asked. Philosophical in it’s nature, this is a very human piece, beautifully written, with a tinge of sadness but at the same time with a sense of knowing and a serenity that courses through the words. At the same time, it also talks of a profound sense of loss, which allows us to gain perspective on life itself.

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