Poem: bones and all (the tale of a body snatcher)

6 inklings - saturday

they told me i’m fine
they told me momma will return
my teddy bears i register
like cans on a fence i once saw in a field
pleated wires
silver smouldering in the blazing heat
i press their fur against the cold wall of my bedroom
and i tell them
“these dreams i’ve been having,”
i ask them,
“will they go away?”
my teeth hurt because of them
momma used to grind chillies
using mortar and pestles
my molars play the part of
instrument and victim
executing me
i slide my hand along my jaw
up the bone
and before my eyes
there is a ghost there:
alabaster grey body snatcher
and endless absence in between the slits
time slides down the frame of the mirror
the curtains are my vital signs
they rise and fall
and hang still
they dance the song of the croaking toads
beyond the sheets of hostile glass
they told me i would be fine
they told me i’m still young
these ghost wounds, they don’t stay
they say
but there’s a shadow plastered to my skin
i bath in it at night
run the length of it up my arm
and across the belly
i tug at it and it snaps
suffocating purple and blue
those beady eyes –
i turn the bodies around
don’t judge me.
i’m still young.
they told me she’ll be back
i yank my feet from under me
hold them out
like slabs of white meat
roll the bones and ghosts along it
watch the folds.
but when?
cause there’s yellowing eyes in the corner of my room
there’s a breath against my shoulder
thick and heavy like the carcass of a pig
in shades of mutilated pink
i slide to the ground
overhead the faint glow
a light that used to be on
they told me i’d be okay
a chest that rises and falls
arms clinging to the floor
like i might fall to the sky
the protruding bones
the ghosts that silhouette the coming of the blind
they do not answer anymore
their heads have turned and bare scalps and patches decide
the fate
and there
a weight leans against my breastbone
and stays still
and there
the yellows turn to whites that glare through the empty sheets
the whites that hungrily bore down into mine
the whites that peer at the starving ribs
the ghost skin
the craving knuckles
the croaks in the distance crescendo
the moon gapes wide like a wound in the sky
naively i believed
that momma had departed
but tomorrow morning
in this hollowed out bedroom
with the judgement borne
and the jury turned away
they will dust and peel away
the shadow plastered
upon a girl


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