1
Tuned in Fifths
Splinters along each note up and down the violin string
of your taut, curving back and sides, resin and grease, the bows of my fingers
playing at church and steeple and touching
your spine. Your range of notes is silent and sealed,
I'm the instrument shrieking and shrill, moan in chest, bite my tongue
with your tight teeth, your squeezed eyelids wrinkled.
You cracked your neck every morning, compressed a vertebrae,
head tilt and unwashed hair. I rest my face between your chin, shoulder.
Carved hollows at the base of your back
echo what I whisper. Somewhere,
a string breaks.
Lena Judith Drake is the editor-in-chief of Breadcrumb Scabs poetry magazine. She is allergic to fortune cookies, caffeine, and one of Dr. Pepper's 23 flavors.
