I admire a white pattern
to find it’s sculpted
from my own bones.

Drawn to the birch home
of my uncaged ribs
I touch them once
to remember.
Then again
to question.
With a slight tug
at the finest
I test its attachment—

If I remove this rib
nothing would be missed.

I could take it
and make something new.
I could remake myself
from myself—
something, I once believed
only god could do.