In the attic along with the dirt and darkness
Are the bones of children.
Skeletons. A thousand individual sets
Hiding from light.
At night, while watchers and wishers assume
Their death-like states,
The children play with street signs
And various stuffed animals.
They laugh when one willfully falls apart;
They build dreams made of wooden blocks.
Silent activities that apparently disturb no one.
On a particular day of no actual importance
I put upon my feet Indian moccasins
To investigate what I heard in the attic.
In spite of hesitation
(I had not been there in many years)
I proceeded to find it filled with children
Small skeletoned kids running about the shadow-filled room.
In the attic along with the dirt and darkness
Are the bones of children.
Skeletons. A thousand and one individual sets
Hiding from light.