I count the bones of us
as the white moon
sets over ash.
I run them through
my fingers
yours, I think,
mine.
I wait for the bones
to sleep,
disappear,
crumble
into powder.
But they are solid and rough,
sandpaper against my fingers.
Almost-whispered groans
speak answers that
I don’t understand.
The rising moon catches
the white,
I turn them in my hands.
I was a match, and you slate.
What blew our spark so wild?
I hold the bones,
sandpaper against my heart,
waiting for you
to claim them.
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I cannot begin to comprehend this poem – and also it speaks directly to my awe and wonder. Thank you!
Thanks for commenting and always finding something positive to say. =) To me, this poem is about a relationship ending, and the narrator is trying to figure out what went wrong. The bones represent something alive that has now died (ie the relationship, the love, even). The narrator can’t let go, keeps counting the bones, trying to find out what happened- in effect being stuck in the same relationship by going over and over what might have gone wrong. Anyway, I realise that wasn’t too clear as it confounded someone else as well! =)