Sometimes I Hear My Bones

Sometimes I Hear My Bones

Sometimes I hear my bones.
They settle while I dream,
and sing a sweet sigh,
as tired tendons forget tensions
that hold them prisoner all day.

I listen for their chatter,
when I reach for my tea cup,
or climb the stairs to my room;
but the moaning of muscles,
and the rushing of bellows
as my furnace breathes,
drowns them with a river of sound.

Sometimes I hear my bones,
as they clatter and rap,
when Winter's white finger
makes me shiver and shake;
the rattling clack of a bone quake.

I listen to their music in the night,
as bone passes bone,
when I shift my face
buried in my pillow,
to breathe easy and free;
and their syncopated snapping
calls me from my dreams.

Sometimes I hear my bones,
as they shuffle and pop,
complaining about the load
and the long hours...
All they want is to rest.

Mick McKellar
March 2016

As I get older, my bones complain more loudly.

Mick