It was there, under a blooming apple tree
That’s where I found myself.
I had scars laced
All throughout my mind.
Scars like the names of lovers
Etched into an old dying oak.
I stood alone,
Among many broken bones.
Most of which were my own.
But now, an old craftsman appears
Delicate is his hand,
Sharp is thine mind.
Weaving together a suit for me
A suit of the broken bones
Shall I wear it now? Or never?
Then he reveals the cause of these broken bones.
“Ye have much to learn,” He spoke slowly.
“For those who laid them scars upon you,
Are far gone and you are here. In the now.”
He spoke before disappearing into the shadows.
Now laid down before was a bone suit.
Carefully, I pick it up, feeling it’s weight
A perfect fit, for they are my bones.
And I take my damaged body
Treading this old dusty road.
Where it takes me, well I actually do know.
It takes me to myself, to the real me.
Back under that apple tree.
Patrick Musgrave-Losey is an undergraduate student in the B.F.A Creative Writing program at Johnson State College. He writes both short fiction and poetry. He currently has no published work.
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