skeletons

the skeletons in my closet are named. 

I have them alphabetically organized,

bones properly cleaned and attached,

names on display. i dissected each one

and assembled them in a line.  each day i

pull out one, and wear it like fine jewels

(crown on crown, hands on mine). I

continue throughout the day, the rattling

of teeth echoing inside my temples, joints

hard against my skin, scent of rot and

formaldehyde seeping into my brain. 

these bones turn gray after years of

presentation, and I walk home hearing 

my own body crack under the weight of

the calcium phosphate, my skin burning

at its touch. i eventually take it off and l

return it to its home in my small, hall

closet. i go to bed, exhausted, and I still

can hear secrets slipping through teeth.

they haunt through the night, until i wake

up in the morning to pick another to wear.

Reviews

[Casey Truax]

You have taken a rather shopworn idea ("skeletons in the closet") and turned it into a rich and original conceit. The attention to sensory detail (sound, scent, touch) is a large part of what makes this work. The line breaks also suit well, creating the impression of something disjointed and then rejointed.

[Ada]

You do a nice job of making the reader feel like these skeletons are actually alive.