I Who Am Telling

I who am telling

hand against earth
knuckle to rock
pebbles, abrasions
on the surface of skin

dust and grit
caked
behind ear
under finger nails

teeth hiding beneath
lips
thinned and cracked
by time by
wind

the things we mean to
say
like so many bones
stripped and skinned
of flesh
buried, vertical
through a thousand
different years

strata

vertebrae jut and
twist

press through
and against
sand through limestone

run our sun burnt
fingers
along notched ribs

we brush away more earth
expose the clear
polished line
of a femur
shining white, glazed
in the sun

read each
face
like braille

jaws
gaped and open
edged by screams of
horror

brushing away
debris, collected fragments
one quarter inch
at a time

elbows, knees
pressed into the tel
of the world

© 2010 andrew kooman