Breathing by Marcello Giovanelli

I give you these ribs to help you live.

They form a bridge across

thirty years

of wild rain, and sun,

and the apples

in a basket that were brought

and placed next to each of the bones.

Between each porcelain thread

are little voices, hanging

gently, smouldering like the final wisp

of a spider’s web long vacated,

their soft hands so carefully aligned

in this thin bone cloth.

And those promises voiced in the harshest

throat of winter or the thrill of April

rain become us now.

The earth is fresh; the world

is a curve in the heart, and

where it beat.

---

Marcello Giovanelli is a writer and academic from Leicestershire, UK. He has recently published poetry in Ink, Sweat and Tears, Poetry Plus, and The Poetry Village.

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