The Sand Hill Review               http://www.sandhillreview.org 2006

Ode to a Bone

Long and slender, perhaps a bird’s,

one side driftwood

smooth and bleached,

the other scuzzy

with fiber and dirt,

it balances lightly

between my fingers,

a spoon without a bowl,

the handle-end a ball

that skipped out on its socket.

A truant, my treasure,

spoon-pen

word-bone

What will you feed me?

What have you spilt?

Once, I suppose, you beat the air,

laboring to soar,

to keep your feathercraft

aloft,

pen-bone, air-thresher

The throbbing heart called you to task

and you answered,

you fed it,

spoon-wand

vagabond

come to rest, to stroke

the hollow of my throat

as I look up, and out.

Lauren Rusk