Rib Cage

Rib Cage

I tend them carefully, these broken ribs.

In the bath, a warm amniotic fluid,
I’m no longer heavy as stone,
but buoyant--
empty as a broken cage.

What remains are shards of songs,
faded feathered dreams,
clipped wings--
all that could pierce the heart--
vanished now.

And the ribs?
Better broken than ossified.

After all, what can escape an unbroken cage?