volume 14 number 2
by Jo Ann Baldinger
The new skeleton looks like the new yoga students glossy, firm, trussed up tight.
I miss the old one Whose yellow limbs dangled From loose ligaments
Who slouched with cool grace Like a guy who’s seen it all The type I always fell for
Who was trundled, on occasion, from his corner To illustrate some fine point of anatomy. His expression ever calm, inscrutable
Some days he gazed at the rain Some days he gazed at us Turned to cranes, cobras, warriors, trees.
I miss the old skeleton His ancient thick knuckles The kindness in his empty sockets
When we lay like corpses In the darkened room.