The Dying Bones
by and published in Edition Five of Pomegranate
There is a small chance I might be dying.
I wonder who will belong to you next,
one waterfall after another waterfall.
Handel plays in the background. She has
no idea who Handel is and sees you from
a great distance, but you have already
let yourself go, grown a beard, spent long
hours forgetting me as though I am a harbor
or the boxes still everywhere. I have never
told you, but the problem will always be in
your bones. Each one small as a partridge’s
or hare’s. Each one with my name printed
on. You told me once you were born that way,
a duck hanging by one leg, powerless to this
name. The women will come and go, the
signatures, the telephone numbers, the
plague of lady’s clothes in the bathroom.
Wind blows its madness at the door, you
open it, and there I am as a potted plant,
accusing you. I say, your bones will always
look too tiny to take care of a woman. Your
skull cannot be their caps. I am sorry for
your life, your face is the face
of a warrior, your hamstrings pitch
you forward like revolvers. But there
are not more fish in the sea for you.
The masons got to you when you
were a child. Carpenters, builders,
roofers. They dug the other names
out of you like herb gardens and
threw them away. They left you with mine,
some record labels, a pothole and one generator
to keep it going. So if in fact I am dying, I want
you to know I am not a gun woman, I am not
here to be the shadow warning others of your
shadow. I am still here to bear witness to
our butterflies, our limbo, our pretending to be
travelers in our own bed. Your bones are my
bones, separated at birth. If I am dying, no
other woman will love you as I have, will
pet your head as if it is the thick fur of a sick
dog. If I am dying, I lay crumpled, an exit
ramp made of pillows. But ah, when
I was alive, with your bones
I was able to stand.
Heather Schimel
Heather Schimel graduated in 2005 from Oswego State University and is 25 years old. She has been published in From East To West, Mannequin Envy, ReadThisMagazine, Ditch, Empowerment4Women, and has a forthcoming publication in Apocryphal Text. Currently, she resides in the desert and spends her time polishing boots, catching insects in an old bean jar, and feeding the wild javalinas. She dedicates all her work to JNB. Without him, she never would have written any of it down.