This
mean bone
in my body,
where does it reside…
What muscle lifts and attaches
this means of life
supporting conduit
of strength…
Is it bare,
gnarled, broken,
split,
marrow spilled,
eaten,
devoured in hunger,
in rage and despair
with no meal in the near
future
to comfort,
touch and caress the soft flesh of memory…
This mean bone in my body
is it hollow
like a flute,
playing death
like a lover,
nubile and erotic
in the cracked mirror of truth…
This mean bone in my body
a feast for wolves,
a rattle for a new baby,
a walking stick for
me to fly,
dip and swirl with
as I wear my bones
and fill my
emptiness with
questions
unanswered...
Lea Goode-Harris
May 8, 2006