A Skeleton in the Closet

From the little door at the end of the hall it clicks
and clatters as it shimmers in your hands.
A rustle like wood reed strung together in light breeze
sends shivers through the house, and you drag
it down past the bedroom—flat-flailed fingers slap
a passing doorframe—past the bathroom and its yellow
light gilding aging pearl rib,
a revelation. Clavicle bumps and scrapes the hardwood
with a chalky muffled squeal as you pull
it through the kitchenette, onto the couch with me, spotlighted
in the bay window at the front.
Here as it slumps, spine curves toward me, threatens
to touch me with its empty eye, I push it back to sitting
position with the tip of an eager finger.

John Mark Brown is a queer poet from Southern Illinois, a senior creative writing student at Eastern Illinois University, and a cardigan enthusiast. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Indiana Review Online, Yellow Chair Review, Indiana Voice Journal, and Rat’s Ass Review, among others. He can be found embarrassing himself on Twitter: @johnbrownie13.

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