Day 46 of 50 Poems/50 Days

The Whalebones

The winds grow percussive,
sweeping the desert floor,
carrying the whalebones back,
back into my arms.

They are bleached white,
empty of any soul,
only the ghosts
that haunt each bone.

As a child,
I would crawl into it’s belly
sleeping flat, breathing it’s breath,
sharing it’s blood and thought,
as it swam deeper and deeper,
reaching the ocean floor.

Together their bones made a chorus;
a song, a lullaby
to say goodbye with,
to make it seem
we’re always trying to get back asleep,
to the deep place,
under the black sea,
where the white whales are gone,
their white bones carrying them home.


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