Open body by Anonymous

In collective memories
there is a vertical
discomfort
that moves up and down
to a silent stream as wide as the Caribbean
with no course
the boat brown
to nowhere
shaped like my spine
rides past 
ears and golden hair
throughout the village
where things puddle 
on unguarded street corners
and the smalls of backs 
like a just  appointment
sometimes rough and wasteful
the women draw out raw areas
measured time and for animal sounds
and it weighted
for hunting made them beaten and pliant
and within the sloped town
their legs met and spread wide