Thursday Poetry

Bones

By Billie Daddario

I carry with me the bones

All the bones of my ancestors’ love.

The men, the women, the children, All the

Carcasses of love from my ancestors’ lovers, they are with me.

In a sack sometimes at night I unpack it and say,

“They loved as much as they were able.”

But they too carried bones of their own making

The cold bones of the dead loveless longing.

I carry those bones too because they are the bones of my ancestors, unrequited love ,

And they chose to carry it with them, so I must carry it with me the cold bones of love.

Saturday Poetry

Precocious

By Billie Daddario

“Hurry, It’s raining.”

“You won’t melt.”

“Yes, I will.”

“B.S.”

“What does B.S. mean?”

“Bologna Sauce.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“What does it mean?”

“It means bull shit.”

“If you knew what it meant, why’d ya ask me?”

“Cause I wanted to know what you’d say.”

“Hurry, it’s raining.”

“You won’t melt.”

“Yes, I will.”