today you wrapped your hands around my waist
long fingers over thumbs, your nails were red and
chipping at the tips
You called me pretty names for pretty things, but
I’m Sylvia P. today.
look in my hand
count the beads between your fingers, tell me again
how I found my name beneath a crackling bush.

it was sunday [i remember] and my god squeezed the earth
between her thighs, crushed out water
clouds sank, my eyes lost the hem of my dress.
old man with the bell gave me a
reddish smile, his face cracked
he say a penny for the poor does a soul good
I slipped one in my
back pocket then
patted it tight for a rainy day.
you talked much too much, voice floated through the fog
and I heard too much

I was wringing out tears from my dress
when it fell like a note ringing out
and spoke to me then
and I spent my penny on a life.
I bought my life beneath a crackling bush.
I walked with it, down streets and up streets
and the hours turned my skin black and
my nails chipped off but my life stayed,
it did.

beads one, two, three, it starts with an S
ends with a
choker. absence of breath.
in moments like this
your words on my neck reminds me I'm
still alive.

a penny's worth of string and beads and
my life was bought on the lord's day.