I am a cradle


Bicycle wheels turning,
bringing me with them.
I sense the clan of women that was,
and is no more.

Except in the warmth of my lover’s eyes,
or the closeness of a friend or two.

The spinning of my mind
while my body aches.
Wrists bare.
Swollen. Red.

Thunder in my flesh.
Gravel under my feet.
The waves crashing on the shore.
A sound that soothes my tired ears.
Loneliness that rhymes with isolation.

Our story inscribed in
my bones, holding,
arching: a cradle,
for the one I love,
who wasn’t, and now is
intrinsic part of me.

I yearn to get away.
And when I do,
I look at pictures of her,
on my phone.
Her blue eyes
two upside down opals.

The sea reflected in the onset of her emotions.
Murmuration. The dance
of a flock of birds, flying
in unison a cross the sky.
Fluttering harmony.
Perfection so imperfect.