Bones

1.

I remember how I sat, even. Bunched.

There was nothing to hold on to

except my own flesh and the strong

bones inside. I’d never been

conscious of my bones before

(except when I broke them).

Everything in my world around

was either in shreds… Continue reading Bones

Copyright © Rogan Wolf – Poet and Social Worker
In all our sanctuaries we sit at risk

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