BEAD

she's quite
beautiful
and we stare
like girls
would in a locker-room
at the one
who exceeds
all
we have to concede
beauty
have to admit
her to the pantheon
no amount of time
in the chair
will make us
her
she's gorgeous
adorable
venerable
impenetrable
her world
stations above us
stratospheric
bones must be hollow
like a bird's
how else does she fly?
fingers flick through
strands
spun angle's hair
a harpist's instrument
but she's not being
played
she's the song
the model
the arch-type
we rinse and repeat
like old women
pray on another bead

Laurel Graham