Debra Grace Khattab, Writer & Folksinger

dancing the cathedral bones down


these light and airy bones of my cathedral

this rose crusting that delights the sun with slivers of old blood glass

with my hair unfurling around the aching pillars

I begin dancing the bones down

artwork of my eyes erupts in the fall

shells echo through the hells of my ears

dancing the scottish swing between the pattern of white fragments

my feet bounce on by the ancestor ties

my arms swing across the arcs of generations

I break the string of grandmother finger beads beneath slapping soles

I pull apart white mother pages with quick snap of fingers

in circles my hair curls all the roof down

my face palmed open to the blue shout of sky

hands slap thighs as the buttocks crack the legs high

light and airy I dance the last bones down

in bounds I turn the hair of my veil with head flybyes

pelvic to spine I shudder the lies white still

face back

legs spread

arms cracked wide

each finger spreads the light over my cathedral crossed graveyard



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