Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Hold my bones

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:

distracted by shiny objects said...

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

paisley said...

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

Pam said...

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.

Greyscale Territory said...

Love how "bones" become the heart of what you are to a surgeon.

Gemma

writerwoman said...

Your poem is featured today at PWB. Thanks for being a member.