By: Mary Bone

Deracinating Memories

Dusting furniture
in every room
where dust mites could gather,
sweeping away fragments
from a lifetime
of dust clogging pores.
Memories deracinate
to another time,
as I open windows
letting in the sunlight.

###

Winter Chill

The soup told us
winter was coming.
The beef bones had stewed
all morning
until the spices and vegetables
were added.
I dipped my cornbread into the stew,
getting ready for the chill.

###

Dying to Self

When you die to yourself
you let the palms rest upward
after giving your best,
the scraps are left.
The vultures are still feeding.