Scoliosis

Poem by Caitlin Randolph

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I ignore the winding river of unremitting strain,
so people do not think of me as weak.
But in the quiet of my room, in the shadow of the dusk,
they don’t see me holding the muscle of my back,
the twisting railway of vertebrae,
a track for the burn that constantly craves support.
A question mark asking,
this is my body, is that okay?