Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsSpring 2015  v14n1
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back CELESTE LIPKES

cam·pa·nol·o·gy
n. the study of bells

My sister was married under the sound—
a church by the sea, white gown barnacled
to her body. She dragged the train behind her
as a mother pulls a petulant child
away from the water.

~

I climbed
the clock tower

before
I held you

beneath it
before

your body
became a bell

I wanted
to ring

~

At the end of a sitting meditation,
the teacher tells us to track the chimes
until they collapse—each dong
a wave swooning into silence.

~

the sort of stillness you love a calculus exam

proofs rustling awake
under flakes of eraser


dark curve we huddle under

~

Curls of prosciutto,
green olives, bread.
After dinner, we fall
asleep holding each other
before the doorbell
startles us apart.

~

For years I misheard
the lyrics from the soundtrack
of Le scaphandre et le papillon

I fell into the ocean when you became my wife
I fell into the ocean and you became my wave

~

You are oceans away. I make the bed,
run, meditate, eat my spinach.
Good tone means that a bell must be in tune with itself.
Without you here, it is hard even to listen.

~

no music without anatomy
ear lip waist tongue
when I touch myself
the feeling rings
memory lapping
endlessly  end  


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