My Clean White Bones

I feel the tugging, pulling. Not again. I was almost warm for one night. Never safe but a little warm. The cold is painful. It has nowhere to go and it doesn’t end. I hold on tighter to the soft tattered edge of a sleeping bag given to me by a stranger. The scent of kindness lingers in the bag until hard claws wretch it from me.

Icy veins of fear slice through my body as the last hints of sweetness slither away. I’m cold. I feel naked on the hard cement. I thought I found a safe corner. It is gone. It’s just me alone in a thick black world sucking me into a deep dark hole. The painful feelings that pressed against my face and welled up in my eyes are gone. Emotions are crusted over; now brittle and dry. There is no real reason I ended up here. No one noticed as I shrank into despair. No one will notice when I am gone.

I can see my clean white bones bleached by the crisp clear sun. In the darkness of the cold night I imagine it. People stopping and asking each other why the bones are just lying there. My true self, not afraid to be naked. Not afraid to be seen. They will all look at my bones. I will be noticed. I will be me.

Alone on the sidewalk with no cushion for my head or wrap for warmth, I wonder how I will get to be bones. It happens to everyone at some point in their lives, but how can I rush my demise? I’m afraid that if I just lie here, someone will pick me up and carry me off to jail. Would they give me a pillow and a meal? No. Sounds scary. I won’t leave my bones in a jail cell.

I could run out in front of a car. But if I actually did it, there is so much room for injury. Broken crumpled bones are not what I want to leave. My bones, my clean white bones I will keep as long as I can. The street can’t take them nor can you.

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