The chiropractor tells me I have the toughest back
He has ever seen. He can’t crack me
On the regular exam table. We move to another one,
Where my feet are strapped down, and he stretches
My legs and rotates them, then tries again.
The plates beneath my belly drop down,
And he seems satisfied, though I don’t hear a pop.
I exhale, able to let go, be loose, ready,
I am open like a sieve, so much pours through me,
So many people give and take, so much to share
And see and be and do and I want to sail
Through fields of oceans populated by growing
Fishes and macaroni juice and the light of the sun
Refracting in the waves and slipping through
Tiny slots in the silver of my carapace, the bowl
I have been becoming for all of my life in this back
Toughened by love, needing to break to survive.