Anna Orlowska
My Bone will knit in 30 days
This is not a play
not a game
this is fear
that inside there is only moss
or grass
Touch has memory
don’t stop searching
they told me
you will find a trace
of a frail hand of desire
Then time will fill you – like light
your blood will be redder
warmer
it will sate you with wanting
The whiteness of a bone torn by chance will grow back
and you along with it
strong and beautiful
