bones

my hands are small and bony and my arms are like that, too; i keep each bony foot inside a well-selected shoe

for what i lack in substance i make up in part with length, and i’ll swear that i possess deceptive quantities of strength

i’ve been lifting up this pile of ideas every day; the pile keeps on growing since i can’t throw one away

my face becoming bonier, i hollow out with age — i’m getting gaunter at a rate i really cannot gauge 

it doesn’t happen daily, but it happens as i go, because the face inside the mirror’s not the one i used to know 

i like who i’m becoming and i like the whos i’ve been, and i truly can’t imagine thinking self esteem’s a sin

my mouth’s a sanctuary, full of music, words, and food, a couple dozen bony teeth, a tongue those teeth have chewed…

i find comfort in my body, bony limbs and heart and all; it’s the vessel that i’m riding down the river to the falls