Sandra Fees

The years string eighty-eight

shards of light around her neck.

Are they skulls or prayer beads?

 

When the knot loosens, they scatter

striking floor tiles like tiny mallets.

The sound is something curving

 

like the bowl of the body, all crescents

and clinging, cheated of last embraces

as it refracts the harmonics of regret.

The Sound of Something Curving

 

 

 

 

 

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ISSUE 98

5 X 8


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