The Bones Are Good.

Who Cares if The House is Sinking?

2 min readSep 24, 2022


Photo by Peter Herrmann on Unsplash

The bones are good.

My immigrant father sings this to me,

and it becomes a bittersweet lullaby.

The bones are good.

Which means

you could make a beautiful life here

with a little bit of elbow grease

and a lot of care.

The words slip like Flint down my throat.

My mother echoes

The bones are good.

Which means

sure, there’s things to fix like

the ceiling leaks,

the cages are open,

the floors are rotting,

and the ground is barren, but

you could.

A prayer sung over their young.

You’ve got the moxie,

the work ethic.

You could make this a gorgeous home.

I mean, the bones are good.

The cadence dips and flows as

others join the repetition.

Try to stay on tempo.

The transgender woman with colorful headscarves says the phrase

as she slips into shoes for her second job.

A dash of comfort,

as spicy as the food and advice she hands me over the fence.

The older lady across the street

who rolls both R’s and names across her tongue lovingly.

The young employee trying their hardest

to convince both me and themselves.

The pastor from his pulpit,

the celebrity from his camera,

the nonprofit leader from their 15K/mth house

all repeat the refrain relentlessly.

It’s not the time to renovate,

but the bones are good.

Have patience. Don’t be a troublemaker.

The bones are good.