Monday, July 10, 2006



What is this bone, this seizure
of porous strength, this strange
scratch of leftover animal?
I found you in the sandbox
at the zoo, guttered rough
and disjoint from the whole
skeleton that is now nowhere
to be found. Children finger
the edges of your joint;
despite their innocence
they know that you are old
and missing pieces. Now
the sun sharpens its claws
on you. Now the empty
sand cradles your stark voice.
And when I toss you down
from my hands, your solitary
curve shadows the light
with secrets.

© 2006 Christine Klocek-Lim


Poetry by Kai said...


Plus Ultra said...

Youe verse make dry bones come to life and make dry thoughts alive on this page...I will probably need to chew on the bones of it before I can be noursihed ...beautiful, can I link?

Christine Klocek-Lim said...

Thanks Kai and plus ultra. You're too kind.