Sunday Poem

The Buried Rib Cage

Eve slipped from its arced ridge-
the only body part
you don't
……do evil with:

the eye, the hand,
might beg
….. corruption;

the ribs are modest
shy crests, ticklish,
………. an open fan,
not quite sexual, yet not putitan:

delicate accordion
……………… -yawn, moan-
Soul breathes through its comb.
.

by Eve Grubin
from Morning Prayer
Sheep Meadow Press, 2005