Sunday Poem

Boy with a Halo at the Farmers Market

The metal halo was bolted into his skull,
little drills secured the scaffold,
so his bones could rebuild themselves.
How truly graced he must have been
to survive a broken neck. Someday
he’ll remember how he had to turn
his whole body, caged, to watch
the fruit vendor polish apples. His hair
will cover the evenly spaced scars.
He’ll go to school for architecture,
having learned to appreciate girders.
He’ll come to love the gold leaf halos
of medieval art, the flash of The Savior
in cracked oils. He may carry himself
a little gingerly, he may never ride a horse
again, but he’ll kiss his wife’s neck
in a dark theater, taking leisure, blessing
each vertebra, one lucky break at a time.

by Sonia Greenfield
from Boy with a Halo at the Farmer’s Market
© Codhill Press, 2015.