Learning
To Love My Neck
I am
an older woman now.
I
wish to love my neck again.
Not focus
on the flawless ones
of young
girls, to love this now-creased stem
which holds my head
that holds my brain – in which
these word flow, swim, converge.
The seven bony segments C-1 to C-7
the cartilaginous discs, the hyoid
bone,
cricoid cartilage, trachea, isthmus
sternomastoid muscle.
For all these years
this neck has guarded
the jugular road of my life.
I want to do-away with turtle necks,
let my scarfs hang long and loose,
wear a low-cut red dress or blouse,
expose the delicate décolletage
to other eyes,
the sun, the moon.
To flaunt the knowledge lines
that ring my present life.
So come now, you carnival hawkers
try
to pull me in – guess my age.
I’ll
keep my dollar bill
not
be suckled in for one cheap prize.
I
know the years I’ve tickled this earth,
that
I have lived and loved
more
than you could even bear.
