‘Column’ by Elizabeth McGeown

The man told me of a string coming from the sky
Attached to the top of your head –
Elongate your spine and think about this string
I was never convinced
Where does it enter skull? How should the tilt of chin jut?
I never found a motivating metaphor until ballet told me to
Imagine a meat hook through your chest, heaving you up
Movie corpse hefted by butcher
Perhaps not quite yet dead
Breathing tight around the metal

Which is worse, the pierce or the cold steel curve to get more leverage?
The pull, is it hard yank or slow drag?
A dentist removing a tooth comes to mind, when they bear down and wrench it out
Breastbone involuntarily rises upwards
Head may do what head does, head lolls but chest is
Proud suit of armour walking by itself

The man told me
(The physiotherapist told me)
Those with Fibromyalgia or
Myalgic Encephalomyelitis or
Or/Or/Or
Have more postural problems because of the extra effort
*breathes* it takes
*breathes* to stand straight
End of day a gradually deflating doll
Slumped
Hunched
Spine not a snake
Not a slithering, sinuous intuitive entity
But a discrete set of instructions
That must be read singly
Erecting a tent while the canvas collapses comically around you
Scrabbling for the next piece of Lego
No, the red one
Where’s –
No, red
Shifting Tetris blocks
In a four-tier sequence of movements
I gradually lurch forward
A curving arc
This is my birthright

From issue #9: autumn/winter 2019

About the Author
Elizabeth McGeown is a Pushcart-nominated poet from Belfast, Northern Ireland. She has been published in Under the Radar and Poetry Wales. She is the 2022 UK Poetry Slam Champion and a world slam finalist. Her first collection Cockroach was published in 2022 by Verve Poetry Press.