A Dream of Bones

Photo by Joyce McCown on Unsplash

The light arrived to us sharing one dream. Of you, and me — reeling,
ill-met by the stars. The vision bends under my hand and all that I turned
you into spills wildly to the floor. But you just laugh and swim in the pool
of light. I watch as the glow covers the entire house.

We sat there for a hundred years at least. As the pictures of us became
animal bones, a memorial of perfect vertebrae lining the walls, gleaming white — absolutely dead. People came to see us eventually. Scientists carbon-dated our ribcages and concluded we were both haunted by the same ghosts.

However, they couldn’t say when we stopped smiling, when we stopped
looking for a house with a garden and large windows, when our last sunset
sank into the horizon, silent and beautiful, the precise moment night descended indifferently upon our decaying forms.

They continued to dissect us anyway. And tried to count each ache under
a microscope, attempted to decipher hidden messages in the bone tissue.
But who could ascertain why even death could not part us? Why in the
National Museum our bones, — so long dead — , still lay perfectly,
irrevocably mingled?



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Hope Ramotar

Hope is an aspiring poet with a passion for story telling. She uses poetry as medium for self expression and catharsis. She is based in Georgetown, Guyana.