The Singing Bones
written by: Meg Smith
We come to dig,
we come to read the yesterday
of this dust.
But the story is done. The brushes fall,
and the sun pours over the waste of earth.
Still, some murmur will rise.
Even as you, and I, will sink, into a sleep
of untouched cave walls,
of falling pebbles and unopened dreams.
A song will rustle, insist, like a soft breath
at our shoulders, something to praise
the first dawn, something to proclaim
a work undone.
Meg Smith is a writer, journalist, dancer and events producer, living in Lowell, Mass. Her poetry has appeared in The Cafe Review, Beliveau Review, Raven Cage, Poetry Bay, and many more. From 1995 to 2019, she served on the board of Lowell Celebrates Kerouac!, a festival honoring Lowell-born author, Jack Kerouac. She is the author of five poetry books. Her first short fiction collection, The Plague Confessor, is due out in fall 2020 from Emu Books.
Latest posts by Meg Smith (see all)
- A Blush of Night - November 9, 2022
- My Last Sighting of Merlina - October 14, 2021
- The Spring Circle - July 8, 2021