—THE CEILING I’M STANDING UNDER AIN’T MINE

 

Skeletons

We danced when there was no wind or hope left, swaying like cedars plucked of all their seedlings, needles covering the forest floor like a hidden trap door.

We danced in stilted time, the clock a bone stuck in the throat, each wall weeping to themselves in the room with Princess Jasmine pillows plopped perfectly on your bed.

We danced because that’s how you lived your brief five years, a human slinky, a girl always giggling like some happy fish saying, “Come on, Daddy, don’t stop. Keep dancing.”

We danced until we ran out of skeletons, when Halloween came and each little monster looked exactly like you, even if they were wearing a mask, holding out a bag instead of a hand.