There used to be a time where once every few months I would go in for a routine checkup with my doctor.

And as always, as I waited in the examining room. I would walk over to a six-foor skeleton standing in the corner with the vacant eyes, the warped macabre smile grinning back at me as if he knew something I didn't.

He always had me in a shudder for I often felt at any moment, his bony arm would rise up and then point s bony finger between my eyes and speak, saying, "One day, this is what you will look like to another human's eyes."

On one such visit when the doctor came in, I asked him where he got the skeleton from.

With a straight face and a bit of a vacant look in his eyes he said, "I dug Pete out of my backyard."

True Story.

(Of course he was kidding. I think. Anyway, I go to another doctor now. He has no skeleton in his examining room.)

Rotting in solitude,

I was gradually tearing down

Piece by piece,

Flesh by flesh

Neglected and rejected,

to nothing I shall be subjected

I'm just a mist of a woman,

of the one who was free

I'm all that is left,

bare bones for all to see

Yet no one can see me,

No one might even try

Some have skeletons in their closet,

I'm the one in mine

hush little baby, don't say a word

your flesh will be eaten by a hungry bird.

and if that hungry bird won't eat

i will clean your bones with bleach.

and if those bones still aren't clean

i'll scrub at them until they're thin and lean

and if they still smell foul and rank

i'll dip them in mom's perfume

and if she won't let me take her scent,

i'll hang you up even before your smell is spent.

and if you fall down from my tree,

i'll find another baby next halloween.

Tango of shame

I am to blame

words carving

life slot starving

magic pluck

no such luck

dip into soft jar

weary hand from afar

widen the road

madness unload

stomp into ground

solution not found

naked words

hushed birds

molten breath

sudden death

skeletons strung

clotheslines flung

slice the wind

cover sin

tense echoes

lined in rows

no elbow room

certain doom

long reach

I beseech

infinite sky

let words fly

unhinge the strings

free thought rings.

when I was little, I didn't want my papa to hold my baby sister. I thought he was a skeleton. he was 6'2 and skinny as an orphan. I was surprised when his frail, lanky arms could hold her ten-pound body. "I was in the Navy, you know. A deep-sea diver." he told me stories about Vietnamese children and the fog in Bermuda. I couldn't believe him. "But how, Papa? How can a skeleton do that?" he never answered my question. I watched that skeleton for fourteen years, angry and loud and brave. the skeleton that I loved read every book, and drew pictures of castles that I will engrave into my skin. but the skeleton truly became skin and bones. I've never seen a man so lost in his own backyard. staring at the sky, staring at his wife, staring at me. he didn't recognize any of it. I have dreams of him now, in stained jeans and a big, rage-ridden head on delicate bones. I miss the skeleton who would tell me stories about the big pine tree in his backyard. I miss the skeleton who gave me hugs like he'd never see me again. maybe he knew that one day, sooner rather than later, he would never see me again. he would look with the same eyes that taught me how to pray and not see a granddaughter, but rather see a brown-haired girl. "You remind me of my granddaughter, Sophie." that was the day I decided a skeleton could never be more than dead, and the conviction that allowed his arms to hold my sister was gone. he will never see more than shapes in a book now, and his pictures are only color. but my papa is the supernatural being that taught me skeletons could love, and that is the skeleton I choose to remember. the living one, not the absent one.

Hallowe'en

the time between

where buried bones

sing varied tones

ghosts of scandals

cry of vandals

stories of glory

of war so gory

in the closet

bound in a corset

a skeleton dances

forbidden romances

secret bidden

to remain hidden

an odorous mess

not one will confess

until the stench

of acid quench

the flesh of lies

as October flies

And November tells

election farewells

truth doth polish

and abolish

secret agendas

from unfound haciendas

The tomb was clean and fresh, new and young. The body inside was of a child, Thomas Ricker. Thomas Ricker was doing his chores when a car ran into the fields and crashed into him.

When the tomb opened a scent of flowers and dirt hit the air. The boy was now not a boy, but bones. He was buried two days ago and the crash 3 days ago. It was very bizarre that he was now only bones.

Light came from the bones and a voice, his voice, echoed in the night.

"I SHALL RETURN! TO DESTROY THAT CAR AND THAT MAN ALONG WITH HIS FAMILY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

The voice was very startling. Under the bones something was under him. A thin, long box. The box was a deep shade of walnut and the inside was a red, velvety type thing. A long stick with intricate designs. Under that was an old necklace that once belonged to his mother, Julia. She was known for her kindness and excellent baking. Now she isolated herself from the world and from others.

The boy lifted from the tomb into a ghostly figure. He had all the marks, scars, and bruises the car had left him. The boy glided on top of the tomb and waved his hand over it, making it close. He flew away in sadness to go find his mother.

As he reached the fields he saw the same car, same man. But something was off. His mother now trapped under the car and had bruise after bruise, scratch after scratch all over her body. The boy howled in anger and sadness as the man ran into his car in fear and drove away very quicklu

I felt, strange. It was cold, I could feel it in my bones, but not on my skin. I looked at myself and found that I had no skin at all. But not just no skin, no organs, no blood, no muscles, no brain. Yet here I was. How? One moment I was with someone, my best friend. Who was it? B-Bethany was her name. What were we doing? Why can't I remember? My memories were slipping away.

I felt around and had very little sensation in my hands. I was trapped, that much I could tell. Was I dead? Was I buried alive? Why were my bones still here? Why could I think? Well if I was going to think, might as well think my way out of here. Bones were strong that must I knew. I started to scratch at the casket that I was stuck in. At least I assumed it was a casket. I seemed to make some progress. I remember being buried in the sand once on a beach, but I couldn't tell who buried me. Was it the same people who had trapped me here? I kept going until I had made a hole big enough, then I went higher. There was a mountain of dirt there, but I pushed through that too. I dug and dug and dug until I felt even colder air. It's Halloween night. I thought It's time for some haunting. Why did I think that? I have never wanted to haunt anyone. But still... that voice inside me was telling me that I did.

"Go away," I told the voice. But when I spoke I was surprised. My once beautiful voice now sounded like nails on a chalkboard. How did I know I had a beautiful voice? Forget your old life, and embrace the new. STOP TALKING! I thought, although there was no one around. Please just let me explore. Yes, yes, go into the world and see all that you can see. Thank you, now leave me alone. As we spoke, I had dug, and now I was out. The sun was just setting over the trees. I put a hand to my head and realized it was out of place. I turned it with my hands to correct it. From behind me, I heard a scream. I turned to the source of the commotion. A young girl, perhaps a little younger than me was standing there with a pumpkin bucket. She had on a dark cape and fangs. I wasn't entirely sure she was human.

"Why do you scream?" I asked. The girl just screamed again and ran. "Wait!" I called. "Come back. What are you? Where am I? Who am I?" But the girl was long gone. I looked down and noticed, for the first time, a gravestone. I examined it. The grey stone had words carved in it; RIP Sarah Hallow 1957-1983 Died of a seizure. She was a good friend and loving daughter and was loved by many.

Sarah Hallow. That was who I was, but now I was not. I was a skeleton, made for one purpose.

It's Halloween night, it's time for some haunting.

I remember a boy named John.

He was gaunt,

a rake almost.

His glasses enormous,

an extension of his face.

And when he got angry,

he got REALLY angry.

Like foaming at the mouth angry.

One morning the teacher left the room.

Another boy stole something of his.

He got up to defend himself,

and I stuck my foot out to trip him.

He fell.

Hard.

When he got back up,

we waited for the anger.

But it eluded him.

He sat back down.

After all these years

I see John.

Punctured. Deflated.

I did that. I was the source of

his degradation.

And the embarrassment lingers.

But only for one of us.

I was but bones

In animated skin

My spirit long silenced

By the chest

You locked it in

One hole, two holes,

Three holes, four

I repaired the walls

I repaired the door

“If I’d have wanted to hit you,

I wouldn’t have missed.”

“It’s not abuse,

if I don’t use my fists.”