Anahata

I didn’t know what to do with my body after being born,

so I sat with sadness, floating around in her bowl like that.

Can I touch you, I asked?

Please.

I did. I called you two minutes later,

after taking a bath,

after biting my wrist instead. You said,

Hello?

I said, The sky! It’s wearing herself thin today.

You said, Should I send for flowers?

No. No. Just your voice takes me there.

Where?

You know, where I’m flying above a corn field,

touching the tips of things, imagining it’s your hair,

then my hair as a child,

and I love everything in pain and everything singing.

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under poetry

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s