articulating the bones
don’t mind me while i sound your bones –
listening for your stories of creation.
reading by touch in the dark of night
what shaped the animal you became,
to see where your heart gnawed
at the cage of your ribs
when the sky was so big
you thought you might explode.
if i walk your spine
each vertebrae a careful footfall
will it walk me back to where we began.
was it the ocean
old sea dog salt of rock and river
coursing your veins, carving
lung and blood vessels into estuaries and trees
your inner ear a conch shell
always listening for the sea.
when our ancestors threw our bones
on that windless sand before the world
to track their way amongst the stars,
who gathered them up again
on long ago tongues and fingers –
gathered them up to bury them
that we may be born here
be the longing of this place.
remember we were told
all women are formed of mud,
they forgot to tell us,
flesh of mother’s flesh
blood of mother’s blood,
that all the world was holy.
mud, silk soft cool
and new rain beautiful
here, this is true,
read my bones.