Cage

I can feel them right now.

Sitting here. Aware of them the way

you become aware of something

that's always been there but you never

had to think about.

Last week I coughed hard enough

to split something open. Now

when I breathe deep or lean forward

I feel the cage underneath,

the bars holding me together.

Something supposed to be invisible.

When I stretch there's an ache.

When I turn the wrong way I remember

I'm carrying bones. That I'm not

just space and skin.

The outline shows when I lean—

you can see the architecture

if you know to look for it.

I didn't know before.