by Sparks In Shadow
These rooms hold chapters
ended before ours began,
others fresh, cling to rafters, ink drying in the air.
They press the senses –
‘file us before we crumble.’
Holding wisps, aging memories threatening to become dust,
these bones stand between us and the elements in ways
we don’t trust. But we’ve gone on.
Noises like kitty’s paws naughty on countertops, thump
though at my side her ears cock askance at the sound.
Shadows engulfing me within, chill
and I shiver as though the bones don’t protect,
but rain rolls off the roof, away,
keeping us parched as wandering memory,
The prompt was a photo of old bones from the prehistoric section of a museum, from Julia.