Vertebrae

The earrings that play demolition
to the tender skin of my neck
have snake vertebrae as wrecking balls.
The bone, an aged cream,
is still pointed, lightly sharp.
Acupuncture from a dead thing
haunts the body differently than metal does.
But they hang and swing and graze
so close to the first vertebrae of my own spine
the one with bone shaved away.
I can almost pretend that wearing
the rigid organs can serve as replacement
for what I have lost, for all that surgery robbed me of.
Perhaps the fragments of my own body
are out there somewhere, still surviving,
and if so, shouldn’t I survive too?
I am sure I will muster the faith
to believe it is over, someday. But today,
I will let the snake possess this body
if only to move my neck freely once more.