if i'm alive, it's because i told the truth

These Bones of Mine

These bones of mine were selfish
in their quiet invisibility.
They longed to be cradled and soothed
to ignore the electricity that happened around me.

They didn't mind the drums that
beat to the tune of an ancient relationship,
or the screams that ricocheted off the
doors that shielded my sister and I from
all the battles that money couldn't easily buy.

They didn't mind that they were the only
ones to remember because water
had a funny way of molding
the map of memories, and
I often carried pitchers to the goddess, Mnemosyne,
to fill up with threats as a precaution.

These bones of mine were selfish
and it's all because of my burnt family.
Flames incited flesh around throats,
and they were always singing even
after our home was torched
by the lightning strike of the Summer of 2015.