Thursday, March 16, 2017

Suprasternal



The birds are singing me back this morning to last year and an apartment filled with slanted light, their song on air through plastic blinds, the drift, a breeze and quiet. I found a Buddha necklace curled in a little box on my dresser, pulled it out and remembered it falling apart, worn by water and too many knots, but I loved it so. The chain is fabric and beaded and fell apart in my hands even now, leaving the medal with its tiny notched saint sitting cross-legged in my palm. I threaded a pink ribbon through it and tied it around my neck. He (she) sits slant in the shallow hollow between clavicles, the suprasternal notch. That sounds like the moon or a star, a hand at my throat, smooth dark places that take touch. I sing words, let go notch. Aster a flower, the n celestial, something with wings, sound in body, shadow and light.

3 comments:

  1. Such a lovely, little breath when finding something treasured but lost. I can imagine the pink on you tying it all together...tying it all together.

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  2. You have strung words into a poem as surely as you tied the Buddha around your neck.

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  3. You are a poet in every sense. Beautiful.

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