Fermata

Some days I feel like a pause

in a kitchen, alone with the lost keys

always in the last place I’ll look—

a fermata, small earth settled in an eyebrow

curving soft as my hipbone and stretching

until the hidden musician decides

stop—small signal, calm

of rest, weight in the score

to remember what song

came before. Indecision

of hooked eye, geometry of sound,

the half moon of my fingernail pulled across

a freckle on your back.

Stacey Balkun is a New Jersey poet with her heart in the south. She was a finalist for the Tupelo Press Spring 2011 Poetry Project, the 2013 Tuscon Festival of the Book Literary Awards, and others. Her work has appeared in INCH, The New Laurel Review, Paper & The Sea, Hoot Review, and in cookbooks and audio recordings across the country. She lives in California, where she explores the deserts, mountains, and lakes.