Early in the morning
on the Museum of Shadows Day
I twirled my your-bone rosary, your bones
rattling in my brittle fingers, brittle as if
a clear vision
could bruise my skin, I sat
in watercolor, I poured
like a confession, my body smoked
and swung like a censer
between our empty rooms
the smoke writhing, your bones joyous
to feel movement, it has been a year
since you felt the warmth of an organ
in anguish, I twirled with you reanimated
my snaky veins moving
over your beads, I prayed
to join you, my prayer free, flowering
like a fracture
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Two things I found just wonderful, "Museum of Shadows Day," and the description of the rosary as "your-bone rosary." I am not sure if this refers to the actual museum by that name, or an installation such as I've seen online, or something else, but it invokes a certain creep factor to the "your-bone" line. I also enjoyed the rosary bones are not the ones that are brittle.
ReplyDeleteThe second and last stanzas linger... I can practically hear those bones, see those flowers bursting. I suspect the "flowering / like a fracture" will stay in my skull for a while.
ReplyDeleteThis...gives me both shivers and tears. A celebration on a knife's edge.
ReplyDeleteEerily well written!
ReplyDeleteHow well you inhabited this poor, tormented fellow, and conveyed his story by inference. Among many wonderful phrases/images, I too particularly love 'flowering / like a fracture' and 'the Museum of Shadows Day'.
ReplyDeleteI love the use of sound in ‘your bones / rattling in my brittle fingers, brittle’ and the imagery in this poem, especially ‘my body smoked / and swung like a censer / between our empty rooms’ and ‘snaky veins moving / over your beads’.
ReplyDelete'I prayed to join you' .. the perfect end to an amazing poem.
ReplyDeletelike a confession, my body smoked
ReplyDeleteand swung like a censer
Too often we only pray when we need forgiveness ...