Outgrowth of
wish bones
feathers
twigs and stones
I wouldn’t have known
if I hadn’t spread
my legs
wide open
Mother – cut them out
but make certain
I don’t feel it
Cut out the hard stuff
not the goo
I’ll touch and taste
and if it stains
wash it away
Cut out the hard stuff
but not the feathers –
they tickle and delight
Cut all
but the feathers.
The Hungry Artist 