The gallery was filled with light
and the occasional click click of footsteps
across the blond wood floor.
There are times we are assured
radiance is still possible.
It is also clear a serpent lives in the heart
and wraps itself around our fathomless
thirst, deeper than the throat.
Even as we admire the charcoaled line
of a waist, we are learning how our bodies are
not edges or the space they occupy,
but motion. And we are learning to live
like the ship that sets anchor
then drifts all night, moored.
Poems by Lisa Sitkin:
TEN: An Anthology of Northern California Poets