Dry Bones

“Toxic,” he calls it, as he digs the little hoe tool
deeper in to the crevices of my shoulder,
rooting out the vicious crunchy crud intruders.

I picture them as vile, greenish-black clods, hardened chunks crumbling and cracking under pressure.
Toxic blocks disintegrating,
Rich, vibrant, lubricating fluid, undammed, runs freely.

The soft tissue surrounding, soothed by the smooth flow, relaxes, loosening like a ballerina limbering at the barre.

Then, set loose, softly, surprisingly,
tissue joins hands with muscle and bone,
And all rise to dance again in the sway of life,
gentle, graceful and strong.

I wrote the poem above about a new and helpful procedure my physical therapist, Ken Byrd, at Select PT (gotta give my ‘son’ a shout-out), but then it made me think of Ezekiel and the great dry- bones passage.

“Thus says the Lord God to these bones: Behold, I will cause kbreath2 to enter you, and you shall live. 6 lAnd I will lay sinews upon you, and will cause flesh to come upon you, and cover you with skin, and put breath in you, and you shall live, mand you shall know that I am the Lord.”