Broken

By Cynthia Pitman

My bones ache, 
cracked by emptiness.
I long to be lowered 
into a bath of soothing nectar
from the wild honeysuckle.
I will vine to the sky
and sprout leaves of spring green.
From my vine will blossom
tiny, white-petaled flowers divine – 
flowers with a pink-tipped kiss within
and with pollen-topped stamens
stained gold from an alchemist’s rain.
When the wind stirs,
it will gently strum the stamens 
like the strings of a harp
and carry far the sound
of a trembling bygone melody.
My vine will entwine 
the cotton-puffed clouds.
From there, I will travel
the sea-blue sky
over the smoke-blue mountains
to the sky-blue sea.
I will float upon its tender eternity.

Cynthia Pitman, author of poetry collections The White Room, Blood Orange, and Breathe, has been published in Bright Flash, Right Hand Pointing, Amethyst, Third Wednesday (One Sentence Poem finalist), Saw Palm (Pushcart Prize nominee) and other literary magazines, and in anthologies Pain and Renewal, Brought to Sight and Swept Away, What is All This Sweet Work? and Nothing Divine Dies.