Pulse


Across the bright morning I hear
voices and the stirring of leaves,
early spring. I’ve never been
here before, you know, never
needed to imagine this past.

At this moment, though, I feel fingertips
pulsing; I count on the beating
of my heart, one, two, three four,

This, my heart, a metal detector,
seeks iron, seeks the push
and pull of blood and oxygen. 
I feel the clock of opening lungs,

count the beating of this heart, one, two,
three, four, that beats in fingertips, in palms,

Warm breath, warm belly, this body
feels gratitude and sorrow alike yes
in this my heart, counts silently,

Gently. One, two, three, four.

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2 Responses to “Pulse”


  1. 1 Susyc March 10, 2012 at 11:04 am

    Like! Oh wait, this isn’t facebook. Love the sensuality of this poem, the body awareness of heat and rhythm.


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