Ossuary / Arco Felice / 1974
Sometimes the bone man clattered by, his horse-drawn wagon heaped high with the stripped remains of dismembered corpses, a cloud of flies in his wake. I would watch him from my perch on the hillside above the street, contemplating the wondrous creatures that could arise if only one possessed the imagination and ability to assemble and reflesh the various rib cages and skulls, the scraped and articulate bones and fragments stacked on the wooden bed. I never considered a destination, never thought to follow, but instead wandered elsewhere, down to the waterfront, or along Via Domitiana to Lago d’Averno, Hell’s entrance, not far, they said, from the River Styx.
Odd, I think, that I never once contemplated the various paths taken to bring that wagon before my eyes, to that very intersection, on those particular days. Nor did I wonder that it was drawn by muscle and sinew rather than engine, that its wares, while tarnished with dried blood, seemed curiously bereft of flesh and stench, and that its passage seemed unnoticed. Perhaps it was merely a parenthetical statement in the day’s phrasing, and I lacked the proper context with which to read it. Perhaps. But even at fifteen I knew that such sights were not long for my world.
Now, from this Texas hill, I listen to distant gunfire and wonder which bones will come my way, which offerings will appear at the roadside, what the dogs will bring. I have fifty-four years and much patience. The breezeway is lined with antlers. I wait, no destination in mind.
This prose piece was one of my first posts, and last appeared here in July 2015.
O at the Edges 
Reblogged this on Recycled: Found Narratives of Everyday Life.
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Thank you for reblogging.
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beautiful piece
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Thank you, Melinda!
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and thank you for classing up my blog 🙂
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Ha!
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I’m so glad you re-posted this curious but wonderful read, which I found quite a pleasurable verse.
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Thanks, Ivor. I don’t write much prose, but occasionally get diverted. 🙂
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I marvel at your writing skill! Please consider writing/sharing more prose. I await eagerly….
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Thanks, Steph. It seems that almost everytime I start writing prose it morphs into poetry!
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❤ ❤ ❤ Very beautiful imagery, crisp and clear. Thank you! ❤ ❤ ❤
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Sometimes memory seems clearer than the present. Thank you.
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I absolutely love this piece.
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Thank you, Leslie.
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SUPERBLY HAUNTING…WHEN I READ YOUR WORKS, I ALWAYS
FEEL BLESSED TO CALL YOU YOUR FRIEND AND TO HAVE MET
YOU IN ALVARADO AND AUSTIN.
WITH RESPECT AND ADMIRATION,
RON
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Thank you, Obi-Ron. I cherish our friendship.
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Bob,
Will you send me your email address. I have your mailing address and will send you the book I promised in the next couple of weeks.
With Respect and Admiration,
Obi-Ron-Kenobi
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Done, Ron. Thanks very much.
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