by Brigita Orel
The cracking of her body doesn’t stop
the music in it
the fugue with notes set out darkly
against her pale skin
Her navel a trumpet’s wail
Echoed in the clavichord sounds of her
Broken ribs
Lunate, capitate, hamate,
pisiform
an orchestra of cacophony
directed by his assertive wrist on hers
her belly and hips add a tone
of a purple-grey fado de Leukitanea
to the jarring tune
that cries to the audience to listen
and remember the heartbeat
once it stops – – –
Published with permission.
First published in Rose & Thorn magazine (2010)
