mr. skeleton

I feel the skull, Mr. Skeleton, living its own life in its own skin—Anne Sexton

Mr. Skeleton stood at the window staring out at his small empire. It was the middle of the day and the street was quiet. The bare branches afforded an uninhibited view…of nothing. Mr. Skeleton sighed. He felt cold, but he always felt cold. Dead plants sagged in the yard as sparrows capered in the dry fallen leaves, deftly overturning them to search for hidden insects. Mr. Skeleton watched the dancing sparrow shadows, filled out with flesh and feathers. As he was about to turn away, he saw motion on the sidewalk. It was her. She peered up at the window, holding the skull aloft for him to see. Ah, he thought, there it is. He watched as she got in her car, carefully placing the skull on the passenger seat next to her. Before she drove off she turned back, raising her hand in a wave. His bones shook with epidermal yearning as he held fast to the window, clacking against the thin glass.

Previous Post
Next Post
Leave a comment

1 Comment

  1. mr. skeleton’s summer holiday | lost gander

Thoughts?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

  • Recent Posts

  • Navigation Station

    The links along the top of the page are rudimentary attempts at trail markers. Otherwise, see below for more search and browse options.

  • In Search of Lost Time

  • Personal Taxonomy

  • Common Ground

  • Resources

  • BOOKS BOOKS BOOKS

%d bloggers like this: