Denise Duhamel & ​Barbra Nightingale

Aligning Our Chakras

Root
 
I have a red dot that looks like a penny.
It may not seem like much but
it’s the beginning—this coin is the seed
of my spirituality. Pound for pound
the scales will balance.  As I roller skate
around your aura, the ground
comes up to meet me: fearlessly I bounce
like a quarter off a perfectly-made bed.
 
Sacral
 
My navel attached me to my mother, led me
to a new world where I was more
than just an apple or orange.  In this hybrid
experience, I could be grafted into a new breed,
a poet/racecar driver/cosmetologist.
I could write with six arms, my engine purring,
my hair-blower mouth puffing
“Ready. Set. Go!” A checkered flag
drops.  Sonnets billow
from my tailpipe, drift to the clouds.
 
Solar Plexus
 
I have a squishy core, like jelly in a donut.
Take a bite. It’s good, right?
The earth keeps its magma under wraps
until it bubbles to the surface with an “oomph!”
How much of our lives can we truly control?
Breathe in. Breathe out. Chant ohms.
 
Heart
 
My heart is locked—yours has the key.
Together our colors bloom on the wall
like these paint samples, little bookmarks
of sapphire and antique white.
Can we remodel our hearts?
Mine feels a lot like Formica. 
Yours, a plush throw pillow.
It’s a new life—let’s go.
 
Throat
 
Sometimes I say “Great” when I mean “Uh oh,”
a sob caught in my throat like a stick
turned sideways.  My dog loves to fetch,
even after I’m tired. I could cough it loose,
but where would it go?  My poor puppy
doesn’t know why I’m screaming.
Now the stick’s gone, I miss it.
I climb the fence into my neighbor’s yard.
 
Third Eye
 
Imagine Cyclops with three eyes
or me, at thirteen, a pimple
in the middle of my forehead.  Who could love
someone who sees so much? Can the one
who sees everything love herself?
An empty mirror is a dangerous thing.
A vain queen gone—poof!  An opaque ghost.
Still, nothing is ever erased.
 
Crown
 
My fontanel is fully closed
like a moon roof.  I might start climbing
the stairs to heaven, Led Zeppelin in my earbuds,
a rosary around my wrist
or stay grounded, a lighthouse beacon
pulsing onto rocks, mermaids and mermen
with tangled hair. The sirens are singing in my head.
Sweet chorus, open my spirit.

--
Denise Duhamel’s most recent book of poetry is Scald (Pittsburgh, 2017). She is a is a Distinguished University Professor at Florida International University in Miami.

Barbra Nightingale's latest book, Alphalexia, was published with Finishing Line Press. She is an associate editor for the South Florida Poetry Journal. Barbra lives in Hollywood, FL.