Doctor me-
hold my bones
Carry them
in your pocket
for just a few minutes
before you put me under
the light of your microscope
Hold tight and twist
insert one
through the space in
between your ribs
and then diagnose
prescribe a dose
Think of my stare
and my running eyes
as I am put deep under-
where I can feel pain no longer
My words melted,
dripped from all
my crevices and drained
through the holes in your head
Check-up
on me
doctor,
but don’t forget
to hold my bones
5 comments:
I've read this through several times now and really, really like it. I'm going to have to let it sit in my brain and percolate a bit to be more specific. But it really resonates in my heart. AnnieH
most interesting... i find the reference to the bone,, being stuck back into the ribs a desire to be seen as a part of,, not an oddity... but i am unsure why the narrator feels that way
This is very good. The image of carrying bits of bone in a pocket and using it as a remembrance device. The poem flows well and I will return to it again. Thanks.
Love how "bones" become the heart of what you are to a surgeon.
Gemma
Your poem is featured today at PWB. Thanks for being a member.
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