Bones Bleached by countless days in the desert are these bones. Animals and insects have feasted on the soft body parts my skull, bald, smooth and a scattering of almost translucent bones are all that remain the eyeless sockets, blank, impassive gaze up at the sun its blazing rage of fiery plumes no longer impressive. On cold desert evenings distant stars whisper tepid sympathies. They have witnessed far too many deaths to care about mine. With each successive year I sink further into the sand a knucklebone caresses my jaw, windstorms push soft desert layers over me my dry bones crack sifting deeper into the dusty floor deeper into my final resting place tumbleweed rolls with the gentlest breeze sidewinders glide silently across the sand and I am gone. © June 18 & 19, 2013 Jane Lynahan Karklin
Posted on: Fri, 21 Jun 2013 04:12:03 +0000
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