Life Line

I imagine snapping her jawbone
like siblings crack wishbones
one to have a wish come true,
power of a quick wrist.
The ridges of her teeth
beneath my thumb
skin breached by her incisors,
graying, 3rd day snow.

The angle between her ear
and mouth-corner is lovely,
to commemorate: her malleus tucked
into the crack of my palm (the life line)
a bone tasked with conducting sound
nestled in my jacket pocket.
The quiet friend,
a good listener.

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