The Bone Room

You took me to your Bone Room

In the ancient poultry building

Behind the barn in back of your house.

It was dark

And you led the way

With a flashlight

First

Through the stoic

Timber barn

Full of bats

And the musk of bat shit.

Then through the mud

Of the paddock

To the door

Of your studio.

The room was old

And stirringly pretty

In the moving arc

Of the flashlight.

Fox, possum, deer, bobcat

Birds, frogs, raccoon

Skulls, femurs, spines, ribs

Jaws, toes, blades.

Thousands of bones

Laid out on tables

Stored in boxes

And strung in massive

Hanging columns.

The bones all sat quietly

Softly glowing

As the light focused

Upon them.

I was impressed

With the extent that you

Went to all of these years

To collect them.

There was no sense of death whatsoever

But instead a feeling of peace

As we stood there in the dark.