how i see it, the body deteriorates neurons collapse, synapse freeze, my yiayia seizures in a cold bed 87 years, thanksgiving and capillaries run dry. sometimes it doesn't happen in the first place. Mila Laganis was born with spring on May 24, 2012. Mila was born with a one centimeter hole in her diaphragm, a one centimeter hole in her diaphragm, a one centimeter hole that led her stomach up to the heels of her heart and kidneys and aorta and blood and one lung was too close to the crow, so crushed that it never grew, never had a moment's breath. I watched mila through glass upon glass this baby, my blood, fight to live/fight to die your baby your body plays tricks on you like that -- give it blessing, give it go And I think about how the power went out and how I see it, i all I'm left with is my own body. the body pushed down, hair pulled, legs split open, ears clogged, elbows twined, knees buckled, eyes shut the body built up, caressed, embraced, worshiped, the body i broke down, the body i healed. how i see it, if i see it at all, is that Sandy reminded us that we have forgotten about bodies. with trees fallen, skulls crack open brown out, goose mountains along long limbs rooms water full, wet. how the skin grows mold. how I see it, is that, when I'm sitting here, talking to you about employment and housing and dreams and fears and visions, i sometimes forget about your body. in my office we build the spoken word, freestyling off breaths full of gestures. all i can see is me leaving you in the middle of the night's hum, you whisper to me, "a man brings his sadness to the river and throws it away. a man brings his sadness and throws it away. but he is still left with his hands."