The Palace of Bones

The Neighbor’s Will

The Neighbor’s Will The man downstairs is weeping In a room of leftover cravings, Spoiled bread and liquor, Holding on to strangers, Imagining himself dead, Eyes beaten in, Bruised like rotten apples. Though the centers are brisk As the morning horns and bells That never fail to wake him. There are places he could go, But he is ill, brotherless, And the little women down the road Who bring him tea are too old To walk that far. If he knew any better He wouldn’t be here, Throwing open windows, Praying for cracks in the sky. For miles, vultures fall Like scraps of burnt paper, Smooth as liquor In their lavender wings, Biting through strips of air— A waterfall of hands 55 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. Delicate as the women Who used to move his furniture Around and plant him vegetables In their ageless, white dresses That hung on the clothesline For years, impotent as wet paper. 56 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. ...