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About the Bracelet

You sent me a silver bracelet.
"Damn I’m good," it said. But I found it
heavy and constricting, even painful
in its alien density. I was forgetting
my body again, how any restriction
burns like handcuffs, even a watchband,
but you know this—so I hung it from my key chain.
I like the heft of it there, I like to stretch
my knuckles against its links and feel
the ache of constant use relax.

What if all the righteous faded
by subtle increments to pure transparency
until no one could see them but themselves?
Left to our sordid board games, would we even notice?
In this scenario you’d have disappeared
before we met. I’m so glad I see you!
And this bracelet, whether it marks my wrist
or jabbers with the keys, proves
I am visible to you as well.

You saw the poor boy in the rich man’s house,
you clothed him in your sea-green light,
you kissed him with your coral lips,
sucked poison from his stonefish heart
and smoothed the ragged seaweed
from his brow with patient fingers, whispering,
"You are loved, little boy, you are loved."
Posted 08/28/10
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