Sometimes
When I feel like I'm going to fall apart
I hold my ribs， all the way around，
Both sides.
My ribs hold me together，
Like glue.
They keep my breath close to my heartbeat.
They keep my soul from escaping and
Leaving me， grounded.
I hold brightness and shadows in
The hollow where my ribs meet.
I hold them there in the memories
Of slow， sorrowful music and
Porch steps.
I hold my ribs， until I feel solid.
Until my legs are tree trunks and
My fingers are fruit.