The deserts and mountains,
The plains and plateaus,
Snow-capped peaks and forested beach
There lie the bones
Whales, coyotes, bears, owls
And the likes of you and me.
Gristled, intact or sun bleached,
They tell a tale of the dead.
Where they were and who they’d been,
Only to find a home among rocks and weeds.
How she wanders and sees….
Well that’s a story only heard by the trees.
She gathers and collects,
What most prefer not to see,
Let alone touch or dare to respect.
She weaves what’s been mangled, molested, and left behind.
Strung together with cobwebs and hair,
Death permeates the air.
Yet she sings, not a fanciful tune,
Or even a reverent one
But rather a terrifying song,
That makes the wise weep and ignorant scream.
Let the old bones go away,
Let them rise,
And run down the canyon way,
Till muscles grow to ache,
And lungs learn to breathe.
Come dawn the night will have given its last birthing cry,
And the Bone Woman will collect her things and go on her way.
Feb 12
Feb 12, 2026 at 6:17 PM UTC
The deserts and mountains,
The plains and plateaus,
Snow-capped peaks and forested beach
There lie the bones
Whales, coyotes, bears, owls
And the likes of you and me.
Gristled, intact or sun bleached,
They tell a tale of the dead.
Where they were and who they’d been,
Only to find a home among rocks and weeds.
How she wanders and sees….
Well that’s a story only heard by the trees.
She gathers and collects,
What most prefer not to see,
Let alone touch or dare to respect.
She weaves what’s been mangled, molested, and left behind.
Strung together with cobwebs and hair,
Death permeates the air.
Yet she sings, not a fanciful tune,
Or even a reverent one
But rather a terrifying song,
That makes the wise weep and ignorant scream.
Let the old bones go away,
Let them rise,
And run down the canyon way,
Till muscles grow to ache,
And lungs learn to breathe.
Come dawn the night will have given its last birthing cry,
And the Bone Woman will collect her things and go on her way.