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Day 47 - Write a psalm to the body
The Aftershock Review is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
Today, I want you to write a psalm to your body.
Not a perfect body. Not a past body. The body you’re in today.
This isn’t about gratitude, unless it is.
It doesn’t have to be healing. Or loving. Or soft.
It just has to be yours. Write like your body is listening… from the arch of your foot to the molar you cracked last year.
Start with a sentence that begins: "O body..." or "You are..." or "I do not..." Let it be holy. Let it be unholy. Let it curse. Let it sing. Let it ask for something back.
For example, a quick draft for you:
O body, cathedral of static and bone,
you rusted scaffold, you sugar-torn map.
You who kept the pulse even in silence
even when my scream went muffled into mattress,
even when the mirror refused me.
I name you: temple, terror, tether.
Home of all homes. Wishbone cracked thirteen times
that made a broken man sing.
This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit aftershockpoetry.substack.com/subscribe
This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit aftershockpoetry.substack.com/subscribe
View all episodes
By Max Wallis' Daily Aftershock Writing Prompts (The Aftershock Review)The Aftershock Review is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
Today, I want you to write a psalm to your body.
Not a perfect body. Not a past body. The body you’re in today.
This isn’t about gratitude, unless it is.
It doesn’t have to be healing. Or loving. Or soft.
It just has to be yours. Write like your body is listening… from the arch of your foot to the molar you cracked last year.
Start with a sentence that begins: "O body..." or "You are..." or "I do not..." Let it be holy. Let it be unholy. Let it curse. Let it sing. Let it ask for something back.
For example, a quick draft for you:
O body, cathedral of static and bone,
you rusted scaffold, you sugar-torn map.
You who kept the pulse even in silence
even when my scream went muffled into mattress,
even when the mirror refused me.
I name you: temple, terror, tether.
Home of all homes. Wishbone cracked thirteen times
that made a broken man sing.
This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit aftershockpoetry.substack.com/subscribe
This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit aftershockpoetry.substack.com/subscribe