by Alysia Nicole Harris

there will come a day

when the fear of death

will be the favorite joke passed among corpses

& they’re already laughing.

my love,

please don’t be afraid

but there will come a day

when field mice play

in our empty sockets.

when our bones

become homes for living creatures

other than our egos.

& when time josses our skeletons

out of the composition that is you and me

& we’ll write with us love letters

that spell “I O U eternity”

If we believe in life after death

then I always wonder

why

we assume the dead like coffins

when people were never meant to live in boxes

so I pray

our children will have the good sense

to leave us a little wiggle room

leave us exposed

like stray dogs in a thunderstorm,

and I will hear the breeze

but not know it as the breeze

and I will feel the rain

but not know it as the rain

and I will behold the sky

& not know it as the sky—in

stead—

I will hear the breeze

and think that it is your laugh

returned to the harp of my ear

& I will feel the rain

& think it is the pinprick of your kiss—

& when the rain is tender

I will know something has softened you

when it is violent—I will know

something has shaken you. & in this

new found understanding of eyes, or ears,

or hands, or lips—our bare bones

will be loved

in the dirt ever knowing our nakedness.

Imagine a corpse wind

cursing

through

a calligraphy of weaves

in our disrepair

we have grown gardens of ourselves—sprouts

of curious grass

shooting—

from our eyesockets,

our knuckles—hard smooth skipping stones

made for child’s play

& the devilish sun—picking its way through

our missing teeth

& neither one of us can keep from smiling

these days.

& the days—they go unnoticed

& the nights—they go unslept & we talk

with our souls

through the holes

where our organs once sat.

Imagine,

your skull and mine,

both reduced to the brim.

Both washed cleaned

of our skins and our sins

growing young again,

forgetting why we ever wrinkled

or why we ever furled our brow

with the plow of anger—

become dust with me.

insignificant and everywhere.

Fore I will love you

even after your marrow has become a whistle

& your bones—

nothing but the snickering of gravel

let us soak

in the spaces

our shadows left behind—your skeleton

next to mine.

I will tie your soul

to my ankle

& know what it is like to step into a dream

& you—

you will tie on my backbone

& see how bad it hurt

the day you said you were calling it quits.

I don’t remember

why you left, or why you came back

I’m not really sure how many years past

not really sure years past at all,

all I know is the rain falls.

you kiss me like a rainfall

the sun—bleaches us clear

& everyday’s romance.

All this to say,

we’re already laughing. There’s a wedding

of pebbles and earthworms

waiting when our tuxedo skeletons no longer fit

there exists a place where we can still be in love

said there’s a place,

where we can be still and in love

just two gentle skulls