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My bones are a house

There is an eagle
that keeps watch over the city
he perches on the spire of
the united Methodist church,
he watches me.
I want to hold up the obese
campus squirrels in a gesture
of offering.
I want to give him a body and a voice
so he can have coffee with me.
I want to ask him what he’s looking for.
Has he been looking for me?
I want to ask him – are you my father?

Instead I just smile and nod
and keep walking.

Today, I realized that I always
imagine people
more beautiful than they really are
but I am never disappointed.

I find comfort in their scars,
in the lines that crisscross
the corners of their eyes,
those lines are stories,
those lines tell me about sunny days
and laughter.
I find hope in crooked teeth
as they remind me of the truth inside
my mouth.

I am in love with a man
I loved as a girl.
I realized today
that my bones are a house
and I want him to live inside.
My skin is a door and he opens
me gently with his kisses.

Inside this house there
are children I haven’t met yet,
there are names and stories
I haven’t spoken.

Inside this house is
a kitchen where I make tea
and a room that pulses
as we dance.

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