Thursday, December 29, 2016

Lizz Murphy - Poem 364: Cross my hand (nod to SSVW & SD)


Under the broadening light of the grapevine
lies a door waiting  moldering  waiting for someone
to unearth it creak it open travel downward into its 
world of bury

I cross my hand over a turned page pick my way down the side of the pit  a root curves under my foot and another like a thought just under the tongue  In the back of my mind how we think of the worst possible scenario to help us cope with reality when it comes  it might be desperate anyway

My hand aches from too many words it loses grip
My thoughts tighten and my arm my shoulder
He says it’s in the last lines the best ideas come
but I can’t hold on

her tiny wrists
as she types
one finger
at a time

A helicopter flies low In this other world  there is the constant hum of motors leaf blowers mowers  one crashes over sticks some vehicle reverses at length birds are in and out of the heat

There is a young mother  she saunters pushing the pram with one hand her new babe cradled in the other arm   her walk and rock walk and rock Nurturing Capable

Another thought - the surprise of surprised eyebrows

There is a small face then a large  over there her gaunt face  cheeks and eyes dragging  she waits for her name to be called

Eyebrows again how to draw them  the many ways  mostly too high too arched

It skirrs low over the road a wide cape of wing  legs like streamers  pulls back at my approach rises fast
I feel these arcs in my own body before it sweeps off in its chosen direction 
The power the grace

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