Credo
I believe in the testament of bones, their tensile
strength.
Little girls jumping rope, boys with hockey sticks,
leap moons every day. They whirl like planets
and their bones turn the wheel of the universe.
I believe in the torso, ankles, spine, and those
small
sticky ribs. I rejoice in my bones each morning,
rise from bed on legs that hold me straight,
walk me to the kitchen. I lift my coffee cup
with a slender filigree of fingers. My hat
fits my skull and I dare the world with my chin.
At night, my bones retract into a thin skin of
dreams.
These, too, I believe. An undercut of sorrow
runs beneath. I accept the slow dissolve into mineral.
I touch my knees, my breastbone, feel the outward scars,
believe that mysteries are happening deeper than skin;
so soon bones diminish and fall away.
I believe nothing is wasted: calcium-crumble,
grate of shale, arrowheads once lost now found,
even shiny leaves, the pointed blades of grass.
Everything that has moved in the rain.
First Published in Calyx |
