Patella

Patella

Sometimes when she's sleeping I remind her
that the doctors carved a smile
below her knee to remind her
to be grateful.

But because she lost her grace
she keeps her chin up while dreaming
her stomach in like over packed peas
her toes wrapped in plasters for fear they might bleed.

I could crummage her and even though she's sleeping
I would bounce back and bang my dignity
because her forehead says she's in advance class
and won't give in until her pores can't cope.

Although they cut her open like chicken
and she can no longer communicate with her vertebrae
I still catch her in front of mirrors mid plea
her fingers wavering for want of trying

not to creek,
like the spine of a book
which when snapped
won't bend back
in quite the same way.