A bonus (brand-new) poem
...because I didn't include a poem in my last post--and also because this subject is much on my mind these days!
Osteoporosis Otherwise Expressed I was a porous girl. The world flowed into me, through my eyes. Through my skin. I felt the sting of it: Its beauty took my breath away. I felt myself to be a silken strand, part of a medieval tapestry. Touched by magic, able to hear the secret language of the white-winged moths that hovered round my virginity. No wonder my bones are porous now, after seventy years of these salty waves crashing against the bulwark of myself I’ve built: a nest made of moss and twigs and mud. I’ve hatched one egg successfully. He soars to heights that I, with my own small wings, have only dreamed of reaching, though I flap them furiously and with joy in the simple act of flying. Of writing. Of having readers taste my words. Making a feast of my porosity: A path of breadcrumbs for the birds. Copyright © 2024 by Barbara Quick
