The Bone Keeper

I have cleaned my closet
of all of the bones
to make room
for wispy summer dresses.
I wrapped those bones
in shame
and tucked them deep
into bags of guilt.
With the strings of regret
I tied the bags closed
and knotted them
with resentment.
I lifted the bags
one by one,
the weight of their bitterness
trying to crush me,
and I carried them
to the spot
where the bend finally breaks.
I dug deep to pull strength
to shred earth.
And I dug.
Passed coffins and fossils
I didn’t stop until I hit
never again.
My twisted arms
were mighty
when I pulled myself out
of that pit.
And as I stood
I exhaled gratitude
and let the bags fall
into the abyss,
no longer the keeper
of your bones.