Our lovely bones

I
Dear Collarbone:
No one blames you,

least of all the ball still
firmly in the socket because

you gave and then held,
a faultless fault line in

my body’s aging
architecture.

II
As a child, I quailed
to learn I have a skeleton —
that horror-movie
staple — inside me.

What to do?

We carry within us
gods and monsters,
never certain
which is which.

III
Dear Skeleton:
I think I love you.

You stood me upright,
impelled me through the
indelible decades,

knowing nothing will
do but motion, that stasis
is antithetical to life.

IV
I shudder still at
the skull’s carapace,
hollow orbits cupping

our living eyes, but feel
the care with which
you cage our wild hearts,

protect our fragile
minds. Even the
bruises that mantle

a fracture attest
the majesty of
our lovely bones,

still holding us upright,
still moving us through
a world so dangerous,

so beautiful,
that no one
stays unbroken.

 

The title of this poem was inspired by Alice Sebold’s haunting 2002 novel, a strange and beautiful read. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tags: aging, alice sebold, appreciation, architecture, bones, creative writing, gratitude, injury, mortality, poem, poetry, skeleton