Saturday, December 18, 2021

Supple Bones - Dec 18 2021

 

Supple Bones

Dec 18 2021


The wishbone must be dry and brittle,

flex a little, then snap.

Because a fresh bone bends;

there is no clean break, no winner.


Is there an art to this?

Perhaps more wrist,

a subtle twist

a tighter grip?


A cynic, of course, doubts the worth of wishing

and simply declines to play.

While the devout pray,

because anything less

would be apostasy.

And for those like me

who seem to get the short end, time and again

the game feels fixed,

my desire thwarted

for another year.


Yet I feel deep in my bone,

try my best

to believe in wishes.

And patiently wait,

for the dry winter air

to desiccate its tissue,

a wish to come true.


Does it ever break clean

right down the middle?

And what would this mean?

The end of superstition

or an equal division of luck;

either everyone getting their wish,

or contingent life

left up to us?


Because wishing

doesn't make it so.

The turkey died.

And we are made

of supple bones.


This piece was inspired by today's Writers' Almanac. Nothing to do with the content of that poem — which is a darn good one — but rather just a single word that for some reason struck me. Maybe it was its whimsical quality. Not to mention its timeliness, in this holiday season of the festive bird. / B


Neck Broken, Resourceful Cyclist Walks to Emergency Room”

                —   from a news bulletin

by Carolyne Wright


Too late the bus slammed on its brakes — the rider

thrown over her mangled handlebars, against

the bus grille’s bent metallic grimace. Her neck’s

seventh vertebra ruptured, the woman gripped her

head between her palms, and stood, and walked

to the ER, a block away — noon darkness aglow

with the accident’s split-second flash: to let go

would kick the stool out from under the noose-necked

prisoner. “But I wanted to live,” she told

reporters later. “I didn’t dare to break

that wishbone with myself.” How else to command

each cell hold its balance — inner fire cold

as knowing Her own life: could she ever again take

it so — completely — in her hands?

Carolyne Wright "Neck Broken, Resourceful Cyclist Walks to Emergency Room" from This Dream the World: New and Selected Poems. © 2017 Carolyne Wright published by Lost Horse Press.


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