Page 61 - WTP Vol. VII #1
P. 61

 El Esqueleto Humano
The tree shape inside the body that disappears when we sleep, the bone-trap rippling out over the dark surface like a keening wolf:
squirrel trap, rat trap, snap-trap, rope-trap, hole-in-the-ground then building the fire crunch of bone in teeth, means pulling gristle apart, means scavengers who make nests out of bones and feathers or a husband striking the back of a truck, shadowboxing a silent boneless hulk
means architecture until its breaks, a shot deer hung on a hook, bleeding from the neck then field dressing, cotton and suede, shirtless superhero of Idaho, the first rule of Adam and Eve, one woman and one man, and everybody else is somewhere in-between, means she bleeds rainbows
means doctoring the chicken long enough and then deciding one day to have it for lunch, means cling peaches that make us think of how muscles cling to bone until the day they don’t, when the bones turn to swords inside the body
means beatings that pull us out of our dreams
and I hope he clips her wings, the other-side neighbor says
means making a skeleton from cigarettes
means rinsing hands with pink foam soap and blood disappearing down the drain, means a crown of chicken bones and feathers woven together into a bird bone basket, means building the fire, then burning her dresses
which the neighbors will see as a vast light

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