Curves I Know

Sharon Simone

My sister’s bald head after chemo.
  Queen Anne’s lace by the side of the road,
    a dime, a brow, a fingernail, the blue earth
      turning inch by inch; my wedding band, the smile
        on Quen’s face when we broke silence, the scar
          on Sue’s chest from her excised breast. A foot’s arch,
           the white moon rising up over the ponderosa pines.
            An orange sun sinking behind Pike’s Peak, a horse’s
             shoe, the hoooooooooooot of an owl across the night,
              rattler snake in a coil, a hammer’s head, a cold wind
               skirting ‘round Shelly’s barn, bends in the Rio Grande,
                the heft of a horse’s rump in a buck, a thrush’s
                bright belly, a single cell; the miserable sewer lid
                in Harvard Square in a rain storm, a knot in pine,
               the open “O” of my mother’s mouth the day she
              died. A pumpkin at harvest, chokecherries sour
            in your mouth, a lover’s arm curled around my
          waist, loops of velvet curtain on a stage floor.
        Brownie’s tail, a red light in Amsterdam, a covered
     bridge, phone wires heavy with snow in Vermont.
  Yin and yang, a sunflower’s head heavy with seed,
a basin full of blues, the arc of grace over us all.

Written at Vallecitos Wildlife Refuge
in Carson National Forest
Summer 2002