Copyright © 2019 Carolyn Conger, PhD. All Rights Reserved.

    Bare Bones

    September 22, 2015


    Yes, things have to get down to bare bones –
    To the place where muscles sore and hot like fire,
    Burn my flesh into cinder before I create.
    I create to survive.


    My age like a curse or curved scythe presses
    The time edged clock into my mind
    And my leaden body. It ticks faster
    Than the beat of my heart
    Bringing panicky chills
    That I won’t survive long enough to create.


    Why create I say?
    But there is a dark figure inside
    That pulls me down
    Down to my grief
    Down to my roots
    Down to the compost of my life.


    Does he – or do I push myself head long,
    Into this brooding and velvety place
    To touch my passion to stay alive?
    Maybe it’s both of us – a team –
    Surviving the modern world’s enemies
    Indifference – cynicism – death


    And the terror of surviving in those
    Dead places fully alive.


    Yes, Bare Bones, take me to life.






















    © Sara Taft 2015

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