My Lonely Bones

Na/GloPoWriMo Day 12: Write a poem about a dull thing that you own, and why (and how) you love it. Alternatively, what would it mean to you to give away or destroy a significant object?

Photo A.M Moscoso

In my house I keep a pile of bones

on a shelf near the window

where they can feel the Sun

and feel the wind and the rain.

 

I won’t discard them or cast them away

my bones that I keep near my window

I won’t bury them or crush them

or make them look pretty

I won’t pretend they’re something they’re not.

I will let them rest where they are, just as they

near my window

where they can feel the Sun  when it shines

and they can feel the wind and the rain.

 

Why not bury them, put them where they belong

I’ve been asked from time to time

I guess it’s because

I’m like that pile of bones

resting near my window

and I know what it’s like

to be discarded, to be forgotten

to be denied the Sun and the wind and the rain.

 

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