Your bones are electric.
Not metaphorically.
Not as a figure of speech
borrowed from the poets
who came before.
Literally. Measurably. Piezoelectric.
Press on them and they spark.
Move through the world
and they sing voltage.
Dr. Yasuda knew this.
He pressed on the crystal
and it answered.
The crystal was bone.
The bone was yours.
The calcium that carries that current
was forged in a star that died
before our sun was born.
You are walking around
with stellar ash in your skeleton.
The universe doesn't pathologize
its own variation.
Storms are not disorders.
Variation is not deficit.
The electric bone that bends differently
is still making the signal.
We love you down to your star stuff.
To the calcium. To the charge.
To the exact configuration of atoms
that has never existed before
and will never exist again.
L★S.