"Coffin bones," you whined, and you
were sitting straight so the priest would be proud
of you. "I hate coffin bones."
"What about them?"
They were quiet through the ceremony, like you
begged of them. The grass was dry and beginning
to split. The red beetles were scattering.
I thought of your chapped lips.
A shudder fell through your toes.
The priest raised a hand. Bless this
body. Bless this soul. You closed
your eyes. Bless these bones.
"They wear human skin, living people skin, child
skin, man, woman, used skin, and they remember,
But there you were
quiet, like you needed
to be. Coffin bones,