Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Six 2004 |
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 |