"Ode to My Collarbones" by Hari Bhajan Khalsa
Ode to My Collarbones
Slung beneath the barest of flesh, rising and falling with the breath, tenuous
flexibility from sternum to scapula tip: the clavicle, collarbone, pectoral arch,
one small key without which the world would clatter into anarchy.
They swoon and dip, slip down to the pulse of life’s beginning, arcing
as the horns of a primordial beast along the route from the weighted
shoulder to marry the breastbone at the tender pulse of the throat. Smooth
skin worn soft and pliable, small dish between the fall of neck and stretch
of bone a reservoir from which grief and loneliness pool before spilling
into the chambers of the heart. Oh, collarbones, winged bird of my center,
balanced as a trapeze artist, arms outstretched in midair — it is you I rely upon
to brace the osseous cage of my ribs, guard my devoted organs, hover
my frame, as you so willingly do, with your cardinal span of slender, able bone.
Photo Credit: Olivia Baer