Anathema to Dignity

The body is. All bodies are.
Yet somehow bodies invented,
Long since, a sense of dignity,

A body with social value,
A body that cannot be broached
By other bodies without shame

And dignity’s diminution.
Dignity requires apartness,
The body that can hold a pose,

The pose that can command respect,
The respect that is social wealth.
One can be poor and dignified,

Although it’s difficult. One can
Even be owned or disabled
And dignified, on occasion,

But only by holding apart,
Somehow, the body from other
Bodies. It’s a kind of crypsis,

Survival by concealment, flesh
That holds still in the foliage
And does not tremble, that holds still

Since to move would betray itself
As compromised, undignified.
Undignified is undisguised.