by McLord Selasi
You wore the cast like a psalm—
purple, cracked, and sharpied
with every joke your friends
could fit across the plaster.
I signed your thumb:
healing is a holy thing.
We watched old movies in the basement,
you pressing play with your good hand,
balancing popcorn in the crook
of your arm like an offering.
It smelled like salt and dust
and something more ancient.
You winced when you laughed—
your ribs taking note.
I asked if you’d pray with me,
and you said:
you first.
So I did.
I asked that the bones
find one another again.
I asked that when they do,
they hold.
::
McLord Selasi is a Ghanaian writer, poet, public health researcher, and performing artist. His work explores identity, memory, and our deep connections to the world around us. His recent works have been accepted for publication in Our Poets for Science, Subliminal Surgery, Poetry Journal, Eunoia Review, The Nature of Our Times, Graveside Press, and elsewhere. Connect with him on X (@MclordSela64222).
Image: Pawel Czerwinski
ID: abstract, 3D rendering that looks like bones.
Psaltery & Lyre 