The skeleton stiffens and teeters with age,
unlike youth's carefree, unthinking steps,
learns to place its feet carefully,
feels the ache and snap of over-stepping,
houses the heart in its rib cage protectively,
holds the head precariously
on its fragile, so breakable stem,
head spinning precariously,
bones helpless to stabilize
the swirling mass of neurons.
Slowly, I have become aware of my bones,
clinking and clanking ponderously
within my sagging skin.
I transport my bulk across streets
filled with impatient, idling cars,
drivers revving their engines,
glaring at my portentous, impeding passage.
I picture this same body, these same bones,
years back, standing on a beach at sunset,
arms raised, exulting,
corporal outline in shadow, edged with amber light,
never dreaming of a time
when I'd be living in a pain body,
the beaches and the sunset and the exultation
only in memory.
for Margaret's prompt at Real Toads: Skeleton Poetry