You mentioned earlier to the students
different writing exercises and just different
ways to get going.
And one thing I enjoy doing often in my writing classes,
especially with undergraduates, is write the poem
from the exercise along with them,
and you never know what's going to come up.
And this was one that happened maybe
I don't know, a year, a year and a half ago.
This is called "The Skeleton of the Lizard."
"The skeleton of the lizard that sits on my bookshelf
has been with me since I was a boy.
When I touch its fragile spine, it
trembles in the air like a feather about to blow away.
A piece of paper weighs more than this creature,
its light existence waiting for permission
to crawl from my reach.
Every now and then I take it out of the matchbox
where it has lived since I killed it and dried the skin.
I pull it out with tweezers as if my instrument held someone's
disbelief in the cold air.
The tiny skull of the lizard disintegrated
as I grew up, until the headless thing came at me one day,
a breeze from an open window sending it
into the room, four legs stretched out
like an angel, its brittle shadow
letting me catch it in my open palm in midair.
I set it back on the shelf so it could
search for a book to hide in.
Try to recall that day long ago when I took its ribs
and caged a sorrow no boy can extract from a trapped reptile.
The tailbone is thin as the White
hairs that grow in my face.
Each time, I stare at the skeleton and wait for it
to finally go away."