A Silver Chain Of Being Poem by Francie Lynch

Does she know the silver chain wrapping
Her ankles is terminal and deep
As a trans-Atlantic cable
Connecting the Island and here.

A single, full-breasted pull on a summer cigarette
Was life-altering.
Her body was beach-burned and her hands sifted
Grains funnelling beneath her thread-bare towel.

Our silver natal thread contracted
As the blue smoke rose,
Magnifying the August moon.
Three hundred moons have dimmed.

We walked in step from the Village
Through the park with the slack chain dragging,
Scraping the cement.
I have often polished that chain,
Used muriatic acid to untarnish it.

We didn't know our brains would
Become onions behind our eyes.
We didn't know towels would patchwork
Over bones.
I didn't know a chain of being could snap
So easily.