Bones
When a bone is taken out, we grieve.
Nothing belongs in a casket.
Or as medical waste.
Where do you bury something that has marrow but no eyes?
That bone grew roots.
Nothing belongs.
The amputation.
It feels like I still have an arm.
Bones don’t die easily.
They talk to their old owners.
Get treated like medical waste.
When a bone is taken out, the bone grieves.
Sentience.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.