Evaluate my bones when I'm gone
When my skin and hair,
my blood and tongue
are long turned to dust
My bones are frank and simple
Earnest and free
They will give up my stories
Shamelessly
Let my bones tell you
how I carried babies,
and which hip I favored
and which ribs never settled back into place.
Earlier stories exist, but
require more finely-sharpened eyes
and fingertips that can read
the buried braille etched on my bones
Stories of twilight hikes
and a thorn that pierced my left palm
A lion whose roar awakened me to
the rising stars of the southern cross
Stories of ample faith
When all we had were long shadows
When the writing on the wall said
"Love is all that ever left."
Analyze my bones to see
What ossified and protected
the soft places that never grew tough.