i had to break my bones and set them on fire
to feel warmth and see some light.
i had to make do with what i had;
bones sticking out seeped of all energy.
it’s somewhat useful still.
when the brittle days came:
gas in the marrow and oxygen in the air
combined to give me a fighting chance.
i had to burn my bones
to keep myself from freezing in time,
from losing myself in darkness.
the smoke reminded
lovers and enemies alike that
there was a story to be told.
the smoke from this fire awakened
everyone just in time to know i survived.
smoke benign and heavy still,
enough to usher in an unfamiliar presence.
no longer fleshy but just bony and yearning, burning.
when winter arrived, i knew it would not kill me.
i had to fold my doubts,
and tuck my worries away
for there was an unquenchable fire in my bones
fuelled by the stone-cold desire to breathe again.
This poem originally appeared in “Anchored Stitches,” published by Carnelian Heart Publishing in February 2026.
