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Today's poem is by Stefanie Wortman

Lucky
       

The staggered line of teeth pushing back toward
their original chaos, the bracelets of condensation
left on tables, cameos of chipped pottery, clothes
turning into moth lace or a lace of broken threads.
Itís easy to think everything is a disaster, but then,
look how lucky Iíve been in this body. And you,
though your scars are worse for lack of stitching,
though you swear itís since you lost that lucky
lighter that your luckís gone sour, act like those
too-healthy doctors who donít believe in conditions
like Lyme disease or fibromyalgia. As far as they
know, the aches come from a dozen causes or none.
And this two-lane highway so accident ready
the sign we just passed nicknamed it Blood Alley—
itís clearly exaggeration. Even those twinges
in the ankle, the ligament's impudent tricks,
arenít enough to address to God or medicine.



Copyright © 2014 Stefanie Wortman All rights reserved
from In the Permanent Collection
University of North Texas Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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