by Emily Browne
gather to see the bones that spell
out met-a-mor-pho-sis
vertebrae drifting in
single file stars one hundred
and two feet
down
strewn across the bottom of
a dried-up well
the blonde boy
without history names dead
stars in the order
of their collapse
what songs there are
are of deserts
sand wind erosion scattering
scorpions glowing midnight
one half-life decomposes into
thumbprints of rain
he says
being isn’t all bodies
visible
or deserted
nearby aftermath
the blonde boy will overdose on heroin
show the kiddies how to
& bones again
Emily Browne is a poet in the M.F.A. program and an adjunct lecturer in the English Department at Brooklyn College. In her writing, she aims to communicate emotions revolving around death, grief, and spirituality through Californian landscapes and biota.