Skeleton

It is a kind of photo you’ve seen
Before--a lot. It’s of a skeleton
The diggers have exposed. They’ve brushed
Away the dirt and clay except
Around the rib-cage. The skeleton,
Antique by human standards, lies on
Its side. You see the skull, the teeth,
The fleshless grin—or grimace? Scream?

This time you press upon the image a
Mortified deep sorrow; no: deeper: shame.
All camouflage and pretense srtipped
Away. No garments, skin, or jewels,
No hair or flesh or flab, organs, blood.
Just the once-used, useless calcium frame,
Which diggers brush. And just the
Gaping mouth. The ideas that person had
Are scattered atoms now--at best.

And yes, you feel death’s scandal, which
A body with its brain must face as fact.
It is no wonder faith in an Otherness appeals.

hans ostrom 2025