CROSS MY HAND
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
