 |
| |
Curves I Know
Sharon Simone
My sister’s bald head after chemo.
Queen Anne’s lace by the side of the
road,
a dime, a brow, a fingernail,
the blue earth
turning inch by
inch; my wedding band, the smile
on Quen’s
face when we broke silence, the scar
on
Sue’s chest from her excised breast. A foot’s
arch,
the
white moon rising up over the ponderosa pines.
An
orange sun sinking behind Pike’s Peak, a horse’s
shoe,
the hoooooooooooot of an owl across the night,
rattler
snake in a coil, a hammer’s head, a cold wind
skirting
‘round Shelly’s barn, bends in the Rio Grande,
the heft of a horse’s rump in a buck,
a thrush’s
bright
belly, a single cell; the miserable sewer lid
in
Harvard Square in a rain storm, a knot in pine,
the open “O” of my mother’s
mouth the day she
died. A pumpkin at harvest, chokecherries
sour
in your mouth, a lover’s arm curled
around my
waist,
loops of velvet curtain on a stage floor.
Brownie’s
tail, a red light in Amsterdam, a covered
bridge, phone wires heavy
with snow in Vermont.
Yin and yang, a sunflower’s head heavy
with seed,
a basin full of blues, the arc of grace over us all.
Written at Vallecitos Wildlife Refuge
in Carson National Forest
Summer 2002
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
|
 |
 |
|
