Stacking Bones

"Come along!" she says
"It is the day of the dead and you must help me."
A woman now she is... but a child I sat on my knee.
We speed to the cemetary in the flash car
Her wearing diamonds...me in my fleece.

This is the seventh year
Her parents have been underground together
Being picked clean and today their bones
Have seen the light of day and are waiting.
We enter the family vault and consider the space.
As new entrants they will be lowly but
Must be kept together.
She shakes reams of white linen and lace panels
In my face and I smile at her.
The bones are brought to the door
Scrubbed clean.
We stack them very carefully.

As she locks the door
She looks lost momentarily
So we sit down and talk about life
And as the sun hits our eyes we seperate...
Knowing bones will always be stacked.









Poetry by jenks The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 520 times
Written on 2010-11-01 at 23:30

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Marie Cadavieco The PoetBay support member heart!
Made me shiver and I've got goose pimples. So much emotion in such simple words. I'm not sure I could stack the bones of my loved ones, although it seems such a natural thing to be doing, as I read this.
Possibly that's why I still grieve so bitterly for my father after 45 years.
This poem has the ability gently to open a wound, perhaps to help it to heal?
2010-11-07


NicholasG
Ahhhh! How macabre becomes you!! Keep on stackin' dem bonz!
xox Nick
2010-11-01


Sid Gardner
Continuity both in life and death. The stacking of bones completes the circle. And life goes on....'Anyone for another before closing time?
Sid.
2010-11-01