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Showing posts from April, 2011

This Poem, A Song

"Bones" by Libby Roderick I come from a long line of dead people I come from a tall pile of bones My people lie sleeping all under the world Their souls turn to roots, leaves and stones. My grandpa went by whiskey in an L.A. hotel His dad died of Ohio coal And before him, and before that, they slipped under the ground Fewer bones walk above than below. My great grandmother's eyes stare out from my face Her skinny bones dance around in my clothes You can almost hear the whisper of her sweet southern song In this voice I've been calling my own. A toast to the living, walk us walk down the aisle So these bones can be married to the flesh for awhile. A song, a song for the living, though the flesh worries when These bones will be leaving to join family again. I come from a long line of dead people I come from a tall pile of bones My people lie sleeping all under the world Their souls turn to roots, leaves and stones.