Body and Bones
by Becca R. from Lake Forest Park
You are the body and the bones.
You are the last button on a t-shirt,
And the light through my window on a summer morning.
You are the bass drum,
And the sound of a page turning
While I wear my cashmere sweater.
I believed that your name was for and mine was ever
and together we were eternity.
Still, you are not tattoo sleeves,
The vibrato in a catholic church
Or a lion’s eyes.
You don’t understand the corner.
Were I sit.
And you are completely not Kurt Cobain’s hair.
There is no way that you were or ever will be Kurt Cobain’s hair.
We were pluto.
The roll of the cymbols,
An intake of breath,
And the last 2 minutes of a marathon.
And Mozart lived in my head.
I had symphonies I lived to.
But now all I hear are the violins.
You gave me an icy glass of water
When I expected an intricately laced basket of rose petals.
And a white feather floats the pale earth,
On the wings of regret to inform you,
That I am the silence after an earthquake.
I also happen to be red, red lips.
Thank God that I am not an AK 47
Or a Barbie dream house.
I am two hands holding,
The creaking of a rusty gate,
And a composted coffee cup.
I am also the cardiac arrest,
And the mute man’s voice.
But don’t worry, I’m not the body and the bones,
That is you.
You were freedom but now you are my bars.
You were the body and now you are the bones.