Family Portrait as a Collection of Bones

My dog collects bones, buries them
in couch cushions as though in
the earth, returning to find them

whole and uneaten by worms.
My husband collects bruises, counts
how many rise above the skin, how wide


the purpling icebergs spread. He collects
bass strings, forms them into hanging loops,
bronzing nooses. My father collects
Want to read more?
Please login.
New to Narrative? sign up.
It's easy and free.
The password field is case sensitive. Account & Password Help.