Sima de los huesos: where
dig ancestral remains, hundreds
of years old but amazingly
We all have our bone pits, at
least I do.
Why so many dead buried, hidden,
into the ground and covered
Periods of the massacre of
years of fanaticism burning
like fire in dry grass.
illnesses too boring for others
to endure. Marriage,
cleave the social matrix in two,
as a highway cuts into a hill
and makes a whole two bookends.
Pits where we bury old faiths,
ideologies we would have, maybe
did kill for when we were twice
or only half of what we are.
Skulls, delicate bones of the
femurs, jutting hips, the tiny
of the toes, jumbled there in a
singing as they are unearthed to
we lived, we danced, we ate, and
went on and left us, you went on.