The clean bones

By Fernando Gallegos

You found my flesh covered bones
Protruding from the sand

Near the dunes, plastic water bottle cap
And some now illegal plastic bags

The waves, gravity and seashell-sand
Had not yet, cleaned these bones

You, hesitant but curious
Made a glove from trader joe’s reusable bag

You picked up my bones, my femur
Maybe my skull, that cage that protected my sunken mind

You put me in the trunk
Next to the spare tire, lest I stink up your clean car

You hosed the bones in the back yard
Scraped, the old skin, flesh, me

Off with a hand shovel
It must’ve been midnight when you were done

And finally tossed them in the Home Depot bucket
Orange, you don’t remember where you got it

Poured the mix of hydrogen peroxide
And silent kisses

You left them to clean,
over night

You slept, but my ghost was no longer around, you slept

When you awoke, you decided to only keep the bones from my hands

The rest you buried near the withered perennials

You built a stand, interwoven fingers
Placed a candle and said a prayer

“Que me puedas perdonar, y que puedas encontrar la paz”

You slept, because my ghost was no longer around, you slept