poetry in process

Bones on the brain

The whole house is sleeping
I am sleepy too
but sleep felt like a waste of precious time
so I am here
Glassey eyed,
sketching skulls.

We cut through bones
Yesterday evening in the dark
On the front porch.
He held the pruners
And I held the baby
While her and I
Watched his strength
Cut through

Now I have bones on the brain.

I think both
of their strength
and fragility

Remembering how easily
my own have broken

The other day a woman showed me how
The inside of a human skull
Has a pattern on it that looks just like
A leaf pressed into silver

In the crisp air and quiet
Of an empty room in the early morning
It seems quite natural,
That each should be
inside the other.