My Knees

My Knees

The months spent by your bedside

left me scavenging for healthy bits and pieces

of my own body.  A week could pass

before I found a foot

among the ruins you left at Treblinka.

And when it took two months

to find an arm I’d crack

and fall apart again.

Now, I do not bend my knees.

My hours are crowded

with escaped cocks my mouth shapes 
and puts back together with reinforced steel.

©  Sergio A. Ortiz, May 27, 2010