Bones

Photo by Juha Lakaniemi on Unsplash

A Poem by Alexis Ragan

Previously Published in Ekstasis

I have cold bones.
No fire seems to keep
them warm. I’m torn,
but the doctor keeps
telling me I’m a rare
cold blooded breed and
I believe him. Maybe I was
born to bear the weather
of these bones, maybe I
was built for the arctic sea,
or maybe I’m meant to make
my bed by the blustering fireplace
the place I’m meant to be.
These bones swap stories
with the wind, they are so
hollow the air makes music
with them. So I make it a point
to sit on the porch at dusk,
and let my bodies’s song keep
company with the nightingales.
I love my cold bones.