Wishbone, wishbone on a dish, pick it up and make a wish.
If I pull the wishbone right, I will get my wish tonight.
Another poultry Christmas, and paltry indeed bantam weighted for one, pullet pulled piece by piece over the fattened feasting days crisp stripped to soupy bones and skin nothing wasted of this small fowl sacrifice, even the whitened wishbone set aside to dry brittle, ready-forked for that tug by two opposing pinkies clavicle cleft from clavicle, the merry thought the who-gets-the-fusion and the treasured wish only then was I struck again, under the breast bone winded, wounded with my loss - the furcula, a piercing weapon, two-pronged with only one to grasp it So I hold to all the invocations we ever made with bones, on starfall, or slipping singly through kissing gates to seal a secret silent plea with lips; always the same one, I can now reveal wished for you Kol Tov* (all good things) - even your death was merciful
*Kol Tov/Kol Tuv ~ hebrew ~ ‘be well’ – lit ‘all good things’
My first and last poem of 2020 until the Spring as I set off on my 6 week travels to New Zealand- and having just enough time to join dVerse for an Open Link Night