a poem a day for a year #62

by Amy Turn Sharp


I find myself touching my clavicle
when I think of you
the bone that is essentially a strut
the only long bone in a human
with a horizontal life

My shoulders strong
my clavicles
the only place on this soft round body
that is hard
thinner
rain could find puddles in the dips my between my bones
you can stick your fingers in there

I broke my clavicle two times as a child
same spot
clean breaks
falling from a chair
from a playground merry go round
collar bones
collar bones
they grew back together
strong
and mighty
and they are sensitive now
like creaky doors to my lust

and just like some lady at a table
somewhere waiting for her lover
she puts her hands on her lips
thinking
knowing
remembering
what will happen next