A Stand-Up Routine

pine tree

 

It will take more than a chiropractor

to straighten her out.

When life’s bones are this brittle, misaligned,

misplaced, walking with

a limp is the least of her worries. Her

backbone has been broken more times than she

can count; self-splinting

has bred tendons spliced to indifferent

saviours, treacherous

lovers bent on abandonment. Self-doubt

leaches confidence

as surely as osteoporosis

saps strength and posture;

she raises tentative fingers, branches

clawing heaven’s door,

straining against the scoliosis scars

to grasp a sliver

of the blue she’s always known she can reach

if she stands up tall.

 

 

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