See this gray dust
swirling
It is the ground bones of ancestors

They are in my nostrils
and on my tongue
They congregate in my ears
where they chatter lightheartedly
and beat their drums
in rhythms syncopated  
with my heartbeat

Oh yes, my blood recognizes that tattoo

They clump under my toenails
and collect in the creases
of my withering skin

If I sit long enough in one spot
they will engulf me
cover me in a fine quiet shroud

I shall succumb to their insistence
and surrender without fuss

Soon enough
sun shall crack me open
Desiccation shall be my lot

My bones will give back the light
Insidious lichens shall colonise me
Insects explore my crevices

Corroded scoured
by indifferent winds
I shall slump with a final sigh
No  
body  
Aaaaah

Then
I too shall blow about
on the breeze

I shall be no more
than an irritating speck
in the eye of a grandchild
carrying  marigolds.




Tricia Lambert.