by Vicki Gabow
Flung far and wide
slowly reassembled –
a stray dog’s buried collection –
hoping for a second coming.
The growing darkness kept him motionless;
turned bone to native rock.
At last, darkness swallowed him,
he could move no more as he wept rust colored tears.
Forlorn, he lay piled
self upon self – a framework dismantled.
Lifeless, with joints of corroded metal,
nuts and bolts unyielding.
Time alone held the key;
greased the joints, breathed life,
with each turn of the wrench,
back into the body. Whole again,
though pieces once scattered.
Hands on the clock ticked idly away;
ever so slowly, he began to smile.
Moveable once again,
he shook the dust from his limbs,
and strolled on as the sun glinted
from the whiteness of his bones.
Vicki Gabow is a high school teacher by day and a storyteller, poet, and painter by night. In her spare time, she enjoys communing with nature, bird watching, crocheting, and making a glorious mess in her studio. She lives in Lancaster, Pennsylvania with her husband, Dan, and three cats, Zoey, Doodle, and Daisy-Mae. You can find more of her work at https://vgabes42.wordpress.com/