MERRIDAWN DUCKLER

The Reiki

therapist hit me on the back of the head with a tuning fork.
I vibrated into my car, turned the radio with a tremor,
then missed the fork and ended up on the old road home.
Here I once had dreams of beauty, looking always up
I dedicated my life to it.
But only the birds listened in the shadow’s piercing,
while my loneliness turned the wheel of the world away.
I was still vibrating when I reached McVey. Mt Adam’s
like a cubist drawing, with deep purple parabola. My teeth chit,
what if I never stopped shaking in involuntary
competition with martini’s, Chihuahua’s, and car dash hula?
I shifted. I waved a trembling hand to some walkers,
climbing the glittery road. I suddenly looked down and saw last night’s text
from Jerusalem. Your sister’s doppelgänger is here, sippin tea, you wrote
Got to love this town. Then all stopped. I was beauty-filled with memory. Next,
the world was awake. I breathed out an old breath, my chest unbound.
My heart beat with bird song, the shadow, the light, shadow, light. 

 

BIO: Merridawn’s poems have appeared in Mississippi Mud, the anthology Portland Lights, Buddhist Poetry Review and  are forthcoming from Halfway Down the Stairs. 

 

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