Three Mudras~ by Edward Harsen
Isis, become divine, unwinds her turban,
turns at the waist, a slight twist one might miss
in a lesser soul, and placing a hand
to each side of the vulture crown, lifts
a new mind above her opened eyes.
For the rain-wet door handle,
for the red squeaking chair arm,
for laced shoes and gloves and children,
for calculators and smoky chocolate wrappers,
there is a phantom limb in repose,
twitching in my eye, unreachable.
I have had to carry the memories so far
they are drummed into me, into skin,
up and down my spine like low voltage yoga.
I’m a thumb drive for the sky,
the world’s marimba tuned to the past.
Play me like this.
©Edward Harsen 2011