Arsenic Lobster poetry journal        Issue Six   2004
| Home | Issue Six | Contents | Contributors | Archive | Submission | About Us | Contact Us |
 
The Rib
Kylie Svenson

We are in love I told them,
And they said
Bones cannot make love to bones.
Bones rebound.
Bones break.
Two ribs, they said, cannot become one flesh.
Bones are solid and
Will not fuse.
I whispered
I am not a rib
And let them drag their fingers through me to prove it.
They told me
Bones can bleed.
Two bits of skeleton,
They said,
Are not enough to build a whole;
There are more bones than only ribs.
And they took out my bones to show me this.
Ribs, they said, frame a man’s lungs
And his heart.
They are otherwise
Useless.
And ribs have
No hearts.
Bones are little things alone,
Like bits of kindling without a fire.
Or even more like the trim on a house.
Ribs without men
Are merely leftovers
Of bodies undone

I am a rib

About Kylie Svenson

| Home | Issue Six | Contents | Contributors | Archive | Submission | About Us | Contact Us |