Who can love me better than the ligaments love my bones?
I’m fragile now, my heart can’t bear the weight of brokenness, those pains from fractured bones.
I heard the night feels lonely, too, when the birds choose to leave their nests. I feel the same way but only skin cuddles my bones.
One morning, I lifted up my veil. I saw a Bible, opened it & it showed me a valley of dry bones.
Perhaps I’ve opened a lonely verse different from the psalms that sang of rising dry bones.
I need these miracles but nobody to go these extra miles for me. I only soak my beads for God to strengthen my bones.
Who can calcify me from envy of those who never chew the ripe fruit of forlornness? Those who never dreamt of lonely bones.
& dreaming is always real until it’s not. In a cadaver room, I saw my twin me being loved by formalinated bodies. They showed me skeletons that were made with their bones.
All night, every bone in my body tells me to get a deep sleep. They said I’m Adam, that one day a bone will be made from my bones.
—from Poets Respond
Ebuka Stephen: “Poetry is a way I reflect on life. It allows me to explore my feelings and enjoy it. I’m attracted to ghazals, so I hue mine with elegy. I’m currently studying human anatomy at College of Health Sciences, Nnewi in Nigeria. I dedicate this ghazal to the dead bodies and bones in every cadaver room, and in commemoration of World Anatomy Day, celebrated every October 15th.”
