MY BONES
The structure of my being
The hardest part of me
Hold me upright
Like the horns that protrude
From my forehead
Above my eyebrows
Act as antenna
I hold you in my hand
I listen to your song
Others might say
You are but an old bone
Lying on the desert floor
Bleached white
Sparkling in the sun
No use to anyone
Still I know you
You resonate
With the bones
Inside of me
The sound of a bell
Clear and pure
Floats across the mesa
You belonged to someone
Long ago
You are no use them any more
Your history is my own
May 14, 2018
7 comments:
The bones and the mesa make me think of a Georgia O'Keefe painting
I can feel the holding of the bone, reflecting on its history, resonating with one's own old bones. Smiles. You made me see the mesa, the sand, feel the memory of times gone by.
some great visuals come with the reading of this...
You've certainly captured the blinding brilliance of the mesa, of the bones, the structure of this particularly harsh, yet equally lush in its own way, landscape - and the reference to bones is apt - and within this poem, there is a certain "boned" structure itself - it presents as someone noted, like an O'Keefe - and I really like these lines:
Like the horns that protrude
From my forehead
Above my eyebrows
Act as antenna
You belonged to someone
Long ago
You are no use them any more
Your history is my own
the layers within this piece are truly wonderful - hidden in plain site ...
Bleached white
Sparkling in the sun
No use to anyone
One can be most sad to see all the goodness extended unselfishly before but now left to the vagaries of nature' rot! Great word-craft annell, Ma'am!
Hank
your history is my own... so much sadness in that reflection on life's transitory nature...or love's.
Thank you. Annell, for this revelation. The once Boy Toy has become but "an old bone" in later years. Still though he was won over the competition, those memories make him dear-to-heart matter.
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