David Anson Lee
Ledger of Bones
At dawn the geese write ledger entries in the sky:
small commas of black across winter's ledger.
I tally nothing but the light that refuses simplicity.
In the closet, the old coat speaks in winter's voice.
Fingers remember how to read seam and seamstress.
Once a child counted a deer's ribs and named them prayers.
The house breathes with that counting, the slow arithmetic of loss.
I learn to name the unnamable: cup, heel, late letter.
Night brings a single lamp and the patient work of memory.
I set a bowl of water on the stoop to prove I am here.
Morning answers with a feather and the hush of things forgiven.
I fold the day like paper and put it in my coat pocket.
Bio
David Anson Lee is a physician and poet from South Dakota, living in Texas. His work explores brevity, memory, and the quiet intensity of everyday life, often drawing on personal, philosophical, and natural imagery. His poems have appeared in Right Hand Pointing, Unbroken Journal, The Scarred Tree, Braided Way, and Eunoia Review. He writes both free-verse and formal poetry, with a focus on clarity, compressed emotion, and resonant imagery.