Woodwinds
Woodwinds
You know that thing
About Schrödinger’s cat?
Poor cat. We can’t even know
Whether it’s alive or dead
Until we open the box,
Which no one ever does.
Imagine the box is our body
And the cat our bones.
How can we be sure
Some of us don’t have flutes
And oboes instead
Of tibias and ulnas?
Flutes in our forearms.
Oboes in our thighs.
You have to admit
It’s possible your bones
Aren’t bones but woodwinds.
But when we break one,
You say. Or when we die.
Well of course
They become bones then.
They become bones again when
There’s no longer any music.