Fluttering Her Hallelujah Hands

by Lauren Camp

She rearranges his voice into chords,

into a strange jazz she is willing to hear,

a form of organization that takes courage

and leaves her with what is only musical

for a time. The room builds up an energy,

not from the sound of him but from the

collapsing space, the walls pushing in

and her hoarse voice falling, clunking

onto the ground without her, her lips

chapping and the glue wearing thin;

he zigzags into her again but she isn’t

listening. She adores the black song

on her radio instead, the saxophone hip-

dancing onto the counter between them,

the babble of nuance moving through pipes

and valves, the rhythm of lopsided feeling.

She is listening to that, and to the halves

of herself binding together into the noise

of the room, and yes, she is willing to

hear his faraway words with her warrior

heart, willing to let him choose her

for his fantasy, to be his bottle of song,

his break from the bruised sunset he sees

from his window. She understands that

what has happened inside her is not

bitter or broken, but that the elastic

of her longing has grown dry and

there is music enough without him.

* * * * *

"Fluttering Her Hallelujah Hands" was first published in This Business of Wisdom (West End Press, 2010)

Lauren Camp is the author of three books, most recently One Hundred Hungers (Tupelo Press, 2016), winner of the Dorset Prize. Her poems have been published in New England Review, Poetry International, Cultural Weekly, Beloit Poetry Journal and as a Poem-a-Day for Poets.org. Other literary honors include the Margaret Randall Poetry Prize, the Anna Davidson Rosenberg Award, and a Black Earth Institute Fellowship. She is a staff writer for Poets Reading the News and the producer/host of “Audio Saucepan” on Santa Fe Public Radio, a program that interweaves music with contemporary poetry. www.laurencamp.com