Family Portrait as a Collection of Bones
My dog collects bones, buries them
in couch cushions as though in
the earth, returning to find them
whole and uneaten by worms.
My husband collects bruises, counts
how many rise above the skin, how wide
My husband collects bruises, counts
how many rise above the skin, how wide
the purpling icebergs spread. He collects
bass strings, forms them into hanging loops,
bronzing nooses. My father collects
bass strings, forms them into hanging loops,
bronzing nooses. My father collects
