Poem 26 ± November 26, 2016

Aidan Forster
Wood/Water Body

One night I slipped from the house.
I could not see my own body

but I felt like more than a body.
I was reflective. I called

every creature to me
and bade them drink my waters.

I scattered with the creatures
and took shelter in a man’s truck.

The man had a beard. The truck
smelled like vanilla and sweat.

He bade me consider the night,
the distance. He placed two wooden

discs over my eyes. From my body
he made a church, a worship to fill it.

He moved through me
like an eidolon. The man lived

inside his parents’ garage. He was
a carpenter. His floor was littered

with wooden figures. He took me
to his bedroom and left

to carve a chair, came back
and revealed to me its sleek figure

which he offered to my body.
And I named the chair Bearded Man.

I sat on Bearded Man and received
its maker. And what have I learned?

How man makes from wood
what he desires and gives his creations

to whom he desires. How to divide
the beasts and the sheets in search

of their cool centers. How to receive
a man like a clump of earth

thrown over me. He has named
my body Wooden Artifice, Water Body.


aidan-forsterAidan Forster is a junior in the creative writing program at the South Carolina Governor’s School for the Arts and Humanities. He is the blog editor of The Adroit Journal and the co-founder/editor-in-chief of Fissure, an online magazine for LGBT+ and allied writers and artists. He is the 2016 recipient of the Louise Louis/Emily F. Bourne Student Poetry Award from the Poetry Society of America, and has received national recognition from the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards. He work appears in The Adroit Journal, Assaracus, DIALOGIST, Tinderbox, Two Peach, and Verse, among others.