You who held me all my life inside your hands
—Jane Hirshfield
Without your skeleton you’d just be a pile of meatLarry said in his studio above the post officeIt’s snowing in April ocean all aroundChris draws a body beside the doorWe both look down at the wooden floor:me boneless at our feet a poolA skeleton hung from the ceilingbroken hands in the empty pelvissmall framed short a woman maybeHer bones yellow the holes in her hipsIt’s hard to buy one now Larry saidYou used to be able to get oneat a medical supply with a good reasonIt was my teacher’sThat’s your teacher’s skeleton I asked—Larry distracted by his baby book by trying to recallthe words from Romeo & Juliet carved onhis boyfriend’s stone: When he shall dieTake him and cut him…
You're reading a preview of
The American Poetry Review (Digital) - 1 Issue, July/August 2023