Marrow as Purpose
She is watching from the window
for the slow parade of one man.
She is waiting when I knock.
She to the door,
I to her — a mid-flight embrace —
we plummet in copulation like eagles.
Here is the dance, the song, the cry,
the beating of wings on bare skin.
“Is it her?” I think.
”Will I feed her young my body? —
she snapping at flesh and sinew
to bargain it to waiting stomachs?
Will she strip away layers
of muscle and memory
while the sun rises and sets
Years will pass,
my burden lighter,
watching the young grow fat and fly —
she taking only the needed each day.
I, bleached dry and white,
offer my last reservoir — the secret pulp —
if she will crack the bones,
pick out the soft morsels.
From “The End of an Ordinary Life”, available now in Kindle and paperback.