The Palace of Bones

The Burial of Two Strangers

The Burial of Two Strangers I. A man is being cremated. The smoke from his stale body Swells the air like a river of ink. This field is so full Of ill moods, all that can stop it is sleep. All the things we’ve tasted today have left us forever Smothered with someone else’s death. The layers Of the day repeat themselves street by street, voice by voice, Reminding us of people missing from our lives. The sky recedes with broken lights. All things living up there move past like a pool of dust. In a chair, a frightened and elegant child plays With the drama of her black dress, loosening the stitches To pass time, amused by her own loneliness, Thinking of ways to read people’s minds. A priest raises a tiny, crystal box and pours the pretty dust Into the river. This makes the girl happy. Afterwards, the guests eat watermelon and grapes, Some get drunk and are afraid to laugh. The girl Begins to think her new dress makes her look older. 46 You are reading copyrighted material published by Ohio University Press/Swallow Press. Unauthorized posting, copying, or distributing of this work except as permitted under U.S. copyright law is illegal and injures the author and publisher. A married man thinks another man’s wife is beautiful. He wonders if he’ll die jealous of what other men have. The dead man’s cousin is tired. He’s not in the mood for watermelon. The dead man’s mother finds a tear in her stocking. She hopes no one will notice. II. In the same field, a few stones over, a woman has gone mad. She is throwing things in a casket; letters and photos. As it lowers, she lays a compass on his chest. “Don’t look at the clock anymore. If you need to believe the leaves are white, believe it.” The young widow has a flower in her hair. Her face will grow to look like someone she never liked. The sky knows it is disturbing. So many possible openings. The moon dangling like a childhood dress, Spilling the light of memory. It was there no matter what you did. No matter where you were. 47 You are reading copyrighted material published by Ohio University Press/Swallow Press. Unauthorized posting, copying, or distributing of this work except as permitted under U.S. copyright law is illegal and injures the author and publisher. III. Skipping through the bedrooms of the dead, History hangs from the trees, Cursed and crowded—a chamber-full of blind birds, Useless as broken fingers. The world is so full of things that can never belong to us; A stranger’s version of love, his loneliness, his death. 48 You are reading copyrighted material published by Ohio University Press/Swallow Press. Unauthorized posting, copying, or distributing of this work except as permitted under U.S. copyright law is illegal and injures the author and publisher. ...