Bones

A baby has 300 bones
an adult only 206.
94 less bones, and I’m certain
my backbone didn’t make it.

My body’s central support structure
gone. My head, chest, pelvis,
all suspended in thin air.

Babies have more cartilage in the body.

What an irony. What is adulthood if
not flexibility? Contorting, shaping, morphing,
bending over backwards for life;
a hollow tree at the mercy of its environment.

The baby’s bones eventually fuse together
my opinions bleed with others
my mouth full of its own words.
I have learned in order to make it far
you must be obedient,
malleable, soft.

I talk quieter, walk gentler
and pray that tomorrow
I wake up with baby bones.

Sabrina Herrmann is an emerging writer who just completed an independent study at Gotham Writers Workshop in New York City. She graduated from New York University with a BS in Business and is applying to MA programs to study English Literature. Her work has been featured in Wingless Dreamer, Poets’ Choice, The Closed Eye Open, Cathexis Northwest Press, The Write Launch, and Beyond Words Literary Magazine.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to Bones

  1. Bridgette says:

    Baby bones. What a great way to explore these feelings.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.