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Grace Notes
The heart monitor sounded
like a metronome
keeping 2/4 time.
You
were out of place,
shackled to your bed
by machines that did
your body's work for you,
by that heart monitor
that made it sound like
your lifeline was as steady
as a Sousa march.
You told me once
that your name should have been Erratic,
that your mother only called you Eric
because she got the spelling wrong.
By your hospital bed,
I counted your heartbeats,
watched the even mountain peaks
on the digital screen,
and prayed for any other time signature:
3/4,
6/8,
something we could dance to.
Mending the Hive
Blessed are the beekeepers,
who have mastered so delicate an art
as navigating the mood swings
of animals who sting.
As a country,
we are still learning
the nuances of grace;
how to dance and not stampede,
how to soothe and not provoke.
The beekeepers
are not afraid,
and so an enemy becomes an ally.
In their hooded suits
they cross over
into foreign airspace,
moving not against the bees
but with them.
Cara Chanoine is a poet, novelist and playwright who
lives in Manchester, NH. Her work has appeared in several
publications, including Ardent , nibble and Down in the Dirt.
She has featured at poetry venues throughout New England and competed
at the National Poetry Slam four times. She currently teaches writing
at a local university.
Email: Cara Chanoine
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