“My Skeleton” by Jane Hirshfield

xray

My skeleton,
who once ached
with your own growing larger,

are now,
each year
imperceptibly smaller,
lighter,
absorbed by your own
concentration.

When I danced,
you danced.
When you broke,
I.

And so it was lying down,
walking,
climbing the tiring stairs.
Your jaws. My bread.

Someday you,
what is left of you,
will be flensed of this marriage.

Angular wrist bone’s arthritis,
cracked harp of rib cage,
blunt of heel,
opened bowl of the skull,
twin platters of pelvis—
each of you will leave me behind,
at last serene.

What did I know of your days,
your nights,
I who held you all my life
inside my hands
and thought they were empty?

You who held me all your life
in your hands
as a new mother holds
her own unblanketed child,
not thinking at all.

xxx

from Jane Hirshfield’s The Beauty 2015

This entry was posted in aging, death, poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to “My Skeleton” by Jane Hirshfield

  1. anvilcrow says:

    Namaste

    I

    LOVE

    YOU

    ALL

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