Bones

(in response to this week's awful discovery in Tuam)

Bones in the soil,

broken bones.

Bones that sheltered a mind,

and a heart.

That had a name,

that rested on a pillow,

that might have run a race,

maybe won if they were fast-

moving bones.

That might have grown

to adulthood,

crooked around a lover’s neck

and been happy then.

Might  have aged to venerability,

or been fond old bones

carrying liver spots,

showering gappy smiles

on grandchildren.

Bones,

those bones in the soil.