Hello Scavenger Hunt

Or how I found myself in London

I know what it feels like to have my own body exhumed.
Reborn, my life resumed, I found pieces of myself in the ground.

Underneath the bricks during the repaving on Brick Lane,
I discovered my left metatarsal and further down a partial of the right.
At Olympia during the Great British Beer Festival,
I found both my fibulas and tibias propping up real ale umbrellas.
When I was down at the Thames watching the Queen and Camilla,
I fished out my patella floating in the river near Chelsea Pier.
I barely managed to grab my femur before a Hackney street cleaner
Swept up Stoke Newington High Street after a dirty Saturday night.
In Old Spitalfields Market just browsing the vintage stalls,
I spotted my own innominate displayed prominently on the table.

I know what it feels like to have my own body exhumed.
I learned how to walk again.

While leaving Clissold Park Café, I tripped over my own vertebrae.
I followed the trail of my ribs scattered along the Bakerloo line,
Such a hassle, each station from Harrow & Wealdstone to Elephant & Castle.
Lucky it was a early on a Sunday cause on the way to Heathrow,
I noticed my sternum as the train stopped at Turnham Green.
It was in fact quite comical when I spotted my clavicle inside
The purple cow at the Udder Belly Festival in Southbank.

I know what it feels like to have my own body exhumed.
I learned how to breathe again.

I made a deal with Nelson down near Charring Cross to swap
For a reward- my humerus for his old battle sword.
A spontaneous visit to Greenwich paid off when I discovered
My radius shining radiantly in the mast of the Cutty Sark.
Hardest to find, my carpals and phalanges dispersed evenly
Along the Jubilee line from Stanmore to Stratford.

I know what it feels like to have my own body exhumed.
I learned how to grasp again.

In Shoreditch at the Rich Mix on Bethnal Green Road
I gained my mandible on stage at Jaw Dance.
My cranium was hiding under a rose geranium nestled
Near a bench in the middle of Regent’s Park.

I know what it feels like to have my own body exhumed.
I learned how to believe again.

 

About Caren

Creative writing professor, craft beer enthusiast, & general foodie- so basically a typical alcoholic poet living in London.
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