Monday, May 31, 2010



What clue does the body’s symmetry provide,
a seam up the middle, from which each side

reaches.We pull away from our centers, hands
out like wingtips. Evolution’s alluvial fan

has made of us this shape: bivalves pried
open, along nose, chin, navel, groin, thighs,

knees, ankles. On top of our skulls, strands
of hair pull away from a part, light bands

of scalp shining like scars. This split implies
hinges in the core. Buried somewhere inside

the butterfly of your anatomy, a spring expands
and contracts, vibrating like a struck grand

piano’s strings. This weird resonance resides
in you. You have tapped into it, sometime,

felt a tethered energy you didn’t understand.
As thick stems anchor the vascular span

in leaves, or the whisker-thin, firm spine
of a feather branches into a network of lines,

so do our cores hold a force that demands
flight, while we (two-legged, seamed) stand.

1 comment

  1. The rhyming poems I enjoy are the ones where I can hardly notice the rhyme, where it's an aural boost to the poem rather than a hard knock at the end of two or four lines. ;)

    Hence, I've enjoyed yours. So much.

    On another note, the way you dissect a human being is... so not gory. (grin) It's like watching a ballet dancer do an interpretative dance of a surgeon's purpose in life.

    Yet again on another note: the fourth line = ah, sugar rush. :)


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