Your body, bent into the prayer position so long
you became stuck that way. Just as your mother said you would.
Like those Chinese cats stuffed into bottles;
your body, maturing all wrong just to fill up the spaces.
You find you talk to everyone as though they are
a dear sweet angel, wash their feet and leave them
smiling and curious. You find your elbows have worn
down to bone. Your body, on it's knees as it should be. blood running gold, and them, lapping it up like the stray lambs they are.