Friday, 13 March 2020


by Cindy Rinne

I. The Woman

Sage scent scatters under pepper tree
shadows. Three-time cancer survivor smiles,
channels the pain. Early morning quiet
on rusted bench. Quail wobble in several directions.
She notices the silent bell
suspended by a white cord, simple dome,
loop as clapper. It reminds her of a dancer’s
jingling anklets – a plea for healing,
an opening to receptivity or call to prayer.
She inspects and almost touches.
What might the vibrations awaken?

II. The Bell

Her hand fits easily in the loop of my clapper.
Contact. Resonance.  Time to address a deity.
My reverberation mists across prickly pear
cactus, scrub and cottonwood trees. Consider:
Plants go dormant and branches bare.
I simply announce this day, this time or the end.

III. The Labyrinth

Her shuffled steps follow my curves.
My guiding stones an ancient pattern,
her second time today.
She conquers Minotaur in her quest
for wholeness, leaves a memento
for other pilgrims to discover:
I am still here, she whispers.

* * * * *

"Equinox" is part of Cindy Rinne's chapbook Knife Me Split Memories (Cholla Needles Arts and Literary Library, 2019).

Cindy Rinne creates fiber art and writes in San Bernardino, CA. She was Poet in Residence for the Neutra Institute Gallery and Museum, Los Angeles, CA. A Pushcart nominee. Cindy is the author of several books: Knife Me Split Memories (Cholla Needles Press), Letters Under Rock with Bory Thach, (Elyssar Press), Moon of Many Petals (Cholla Needles Press), and others. Her poetry appeared or is forthcoming in: Anti-Heroin Chic, Unpsychology Magazine, MORIA, several anthologies, and others.

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