What Remains
Kyle Hunter Innocent, greedy squirrels taking nuts they have no room to hold. Such big breaths sucked, gulped, in anticipation of death. We were taught this fun, little game— to hold our breath as we passed the repose of bones and flesh, gone or going. Dead bodies captured, named in cold stone whizzing past as we dug deep and bugged out our eyes. We were taught, to respect the memory of the dead by keeping off the grass that covered their agape, festering stares upward. Painting ourselves back into corners, of grief and remembering to forget, trading an unhesitant life for respect. A life worth celebrating is a life to stand on. Hills of bones, mountains made of what’s left by the greatest women and men. Skulls and ribs, precious for what they held, under foot making paths, upward to heaven, to the heavens, or just up. |
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About the Author: Kyle Hunter is an attorney with a BFA in painting from Indiana University. He lives in Indianapolis with his wife and four young children. His work has been published in Branches Magazine, Silver Birch Press, and So It Goes: The Literary Journal of the Kurt Vonnegut Memorial Library.