Sometimes

    When I feel like I'm going to fall apart

    I hold my ribs， all the way around，

    Both sides.

    My ribs hold me together，

    Like glue.

    They keep my breath close to my heartbeat.

    They keep my soul from escaping and

    Leaving me， grounded.

    I hold brightness and shadows in

    The hollow where my ribs meet.

    I hold them there in the memories

    Of slow， sorrowful music and

    Porch steps.

    I hold my ribs， until I feel solid.

    Until my legs are tree trunks and

    My fingers are fruit.