Tonight seems like a good night
to boil a sack of bones.
I don’t know where the bones
came from, but they seem harmless
enough. To make things clean
again, you boil them, like rags
on a battlefield or the newborn
blankets in the arms of a mother.
Tonight seems like a good night
for my marrow to start a diary,
for things hidden to dissipate
in steam and get sucked
into the air. Bad things that
have happened to me or
even the bad things that I’ve done
will become a raincloud
to water the side of a mountain
and grow an aspen tree
that a boy and a girl will
carve their initials into someday
so that everyone can see just
how in like they are.
Gulf Stream Magazine 