Roseanna Alice Boswell
Bones I Get From My Mother
I think my bones have fossils in them,
skeletal flowers lying dead-
weight against spine.
Did you know in horses,
age can always be told
by teeth?
For me, I assume it is a matter
of calcite flecks in the eyes,
or how hard my knees can knock.
I have one throat that I use only for apologies
the other is bird-bone hollow
and sings.
You see, chest cavities
may hold more than bad genetics
but swallowing is always hereditary.
I am the daughter who speaks
too slow —
I never talk over my brothers
at the dinner table.
I don’t have the volume
but I know my underneath
is as wise as a mare's tooth
and I know my tongue
is a rounded wasp's nest
with an egg's gold finish.
Everything inside is humming.
Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published monthly by Glass Poetry Press.
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