Bodies from Bones

by Helen Ogden

These are the joints that calcify us,
these are the curdled reins that rise.
These are the roots that tenderise
the fighting mass,
the whorl of textured cells.

Life collects an orchestrated trail
that stems from clouds of flesh
and throat. Wrists curl over stomachs.
In the thrall,
breath disturbs hair. 

Nothing prevents our travelling like this,
as if our limbs rely on little else.
The mouths that glisten in the labyrinth,
the fingers smothering the way.

A monster of lovers, leavers, friends
failed fastenings, workings within the skin.
You know it’s there, the tributaries,
set in the chest, the lungs.

Yet don’t speak, don’t move,
be still against the spindled squall.
‘We are here, we are here , we are
here,’ the creature sings.
‘to be held, held, held.’

Helen Ogden is a Yorkshire writer who loves stories. She has been published in Cabinet Des Fées volume 3, Goblin Fruit, and the In The Telling anthology by Cinnamon Press amongst others. She is currently writing an Antarctic Fairytale for children about bossy Penguin explorers and fugitive circus bears.

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