What could be left
 
what could be left
the hyenas could not
have picked me cleaner,
could you not have left me
with a small speck of who i
thought  i was next to you?
what prompted you to leave
my bleached bones here
on the dusted trail with the
elephant’s large tusks, what
trader will want my wasted bones?
what carved art can i become?
what whale bone could i compare
to, honed and smoothed to grace a
shelf, a desk, a chain about an
alabaster neck?  i am opaque.
did i ever exist? were you hunter?
was i hunted? what trail of tears led
to this moment?