Every night, I go to bed a whole unbroken person.
Every morning, I wake up, and my bones are broken splintered charred.
I dread my sleep, my demon bed.
I know what morning brings.
The pieces of bone spill out of me.
They lie around me, lost bits I have not swept up yet.
Fragments I have not yet reclaimed.
As the day hours go by, the bones
return to my body until, once more,
at night I am complete.
Except for the hole in my heart
that you dug so deeply.
It is healing, but my grief has leached into my bones.
I split them, I twist them, I hammer my bones,
just as I did
with yours that I now
wear in a necklace around my neck.
I touch the hard whiteness in the hollow of my throat.
One morning, my bones will not mend,
and you and I will be together again,
bone to bone.