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what my mother does for a living
what other bones do we collect? none so intimate
as teeth i think but when my father met his age replaced
his hip with another my mother the physical therapist
convinced the nurse to smuggle the original joint out
in a biohazard bag & kept it in the fridge until the ground
thawed enough to bury it months later when the sky began
to leave early again we unearthed it with a gentler
curiosity than most hidden things bear with inquisitive hands
my mother began to know the cartilage and the tranquility
it had left
in its absence the uncushioned shadows of youth
Originally published in After Happy Hour Review
Rhiannon Briggs
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