Mender
If I must mend broken bones,
Handling marrow with melting light;
Quiet fingers searching for something steady,
I will need my pulse to be as fixed as the flame
mediating between me and the matter.
My eye will be a ledge, a ruler to keep an even line
My breath, with each new rhythm sliding from my lips
will be a keeper of time, marrying the work of my hands
with the lucid, free flowing thoughts in my mind
Inhale when I pull, stretch, or turn
Exhale when I rest, giving warmth to the bruising room
Opening up the joints to give space back to a cool darkness
which has no reason to uphold its place.
Fiercely I am cradling a new body,
Taking form in my arms. Steadfast, I am a sliver of growing dawn.
Emily Clark
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