Bone speak

“The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones.” 

–      William Shakespeare

 

 

 

Bone speak

Not yet

Brittle

Yet perhaps

A bit of a rattle

De temps en temps

Where I have lain

Broken

In the past

*

That speeding car

Stopping in the back

Of my own

Fracturing C2

The axis

Of my revolving

Kindly you didn’t

Sever spinal connections

*

So many years ago

Even a scan doesn’t

Find a trace of you

Yet the coldest wind

Tightens its grip

Rappel de mon cou

Of what might

Have been

*

The only evidence

Lies buried beneath

Long muddy brown locks

Burr holes, for traction

A puzzle for future

Anthropologists

Pas du tout

My ashes will not

Be found

*

Bisous,

Léa

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