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scattered: finger bones missing, teeth missing. Stolen by jewelry makers. Sun shadows dance on bones, missing finger bones: shapers of flutes, makers of moccasins, My tears hide scattered bones. Behind my back a man whispers "Ridiculous! Crying over sun splattered bones!" Inside me, old ones whisper, Blind one! He cannot see moccasin trails across the skies. Deaf one! He cannot hear spirit flutes by the fire. Sun splatters off scattered bones. I weep. By Sondra Ball Copyright © 1996 Ball All Rights Reserved |
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