Bad Bones

For some reason the Gods gave me bad eyes.
Green scarf my first toy, a bandage,
But they weren’t done, I got an orphan’s share
Of joy, madcap blues, blind abacus
Until you think to say “whatever ”
Feigning indifference til silence comes
Like a wounded bird.

I have bad bones
And wave a red candle.
Climbing the twisted stairs
Of James Tate’s cemetery willow.
Sadness is just the rules of a game
No sharp foundling plays.

—for D.J. Savarese

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University

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