print previewback CELESTE LIPKES
cam·pa·nol·o·gy
n. the study of bells
My sister was married under the sound—
a church by the sea, white gown barnacled
to her body. She dragged the train behind her
as a mother pulls a petulant child
away from the water.
~
I climbed
the clock tower
before
I held you
beneath it
before
your body
became a bell
I wanted
to ring
~
At the end of a sitting meditation,
the teacher tells us to track the chimes
until they collapse—each dong
a wave swooning into silence.
~
the sort of stillness you love a calculus exam
proofs rustling awake
under flakes of eraser
dark curve we huddle under
~
Curls of prosciutto,
green olives, bread.
After dinner, we fall
asleep holding each other
before the doorbell
startles us apart.
~
For years I misheard
the lyrics from the soundtrack
of Le scaphandre et le papillon—
I fell into the ocean when you became my wife
I fell into the ocean and you became my wave
~
You are oceans away. I make the bed,
run, meditate, eat my spinach.
Good tone means that a bell must be in tune with itself.
Without you here, it is hard even to listen.
~
no music without anatomy
ear lip waist tongue
when I touch myself
the feeling rings
memory lapping
endlessly 
cam·pa·nol·o·gy
ne·pen·thes
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