Being Made of Bone

 My friend Jim gave me this spine. He found it in the woods, out by his house, somewhere on the outskirts of Millegeville. Somewhere between here, the Ocoonnee River, and Lake Sinclair. It was a surprise. One he had laid out, gently in the back of his pick-up truck. How rare. A spine licked clean of flesh, sun bleached, but still tethered together by ligament.

 There were other bones he gave me too. I know next to nothing about anatomy. I'm not even sure what animal this is from or even if all these bones are from the same one.

 These bones make me think about how I am made of bones. How closely these bones resemble the bones in my body.

These bones make me think about how much beauty there is everywhere. Even in death.

These bones, though I'm not sure why, feel comfortable in my laundry room, sitting on top of the washing machine.