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Currajah (news & notes)

 

KRISTIN HANNAFORD

         Birthday

The day carves itself a groove, patterns repeat

shavings curl on the carpenter’s floor in disarray.

Some oil applied. Smoothed, the wood drinks deep

whorls and knots darkening with stain.

 

She leans back in the chair. Feet on the deck

Coffee cup in hand. She waits. Something fidgety about

the way her fingers play with her mouth, her neck

craning. Nothing will settle the doubt

 

in her today. A wariness which has crept

up her spine and settled close to the medulla

Moments on a wheel: the point at which moisture wept

disperses, a synapse connecting in her skull,

 

wide spirals of albatross in flight. Her boy child talks while

she discovers the possibilities of his smile.