Skinless (a poem)

The soft snow sifts.

Splitting the sky in two.

Psych admissions are reduced

During the first fragile snow.

Even crazies take comfort in cosmic stillness.



In a hospital, I saw a baby

Born without skin,

And wondered if this could be Jesus' cousin,

Or even a distant relative of my own perhaps.

I, too, have walked this world skinless, more often than not.



The skinned sinews of my being have been

Exposed to the rough raw realities:

Winds off Lake Michigan, gusts and gales,

And hollerin' in the streets.

Strange men following me, gunshots.



Often, I've been felled,

From jealous women's scorn,

Suffered the shrill piercing cry of victory

At the poet's defeat,

Debased, defiled poet on bloodied knees.



I have wondered many times if I

Will ever walk again, or stand.

Standing is sometimes

the bravest thing to do when your sinews show,

and you wait for the cover of gentle snow.



by March Bracken