Piece of Bone
I suspect it was vertebra,
twin domes of articulation
like the split roof of an observatory,
eye holes for the escape of nerves
from the (I presume there was one)
spinal cord. Held just right
it was a skull that could look at you
from any point in the room—some
prehistoric marsupial with curved teeth
like a very small wart hog.
Found it scuffing around
a dusty bone pile
among a bunch of cedar scraps
someone’d chipped
out west of Austin. Jumped
into my vision like a burning bush,
only there wasn’t one.
Put it on my neckerchief
instead of those burnished square knots
most Scouts wear—caused
a lot of questions I didn’t
have answers to. I loved it
for the mystery
and the distinction,
that crackerjack anomaly
that made it all come together
as if it said something about me
I didn’t know myself.
Stayed with me all the way
to the Eagle Scout photo
Mrs. Cluck took at Cluck’s
Studio with her camera
that looked like a space station.
She’s gone.
The photo’s gone. And the little skull
which probably wasn’t a skull. . .
let’s just say. . .
it found its way back to the bone pile
where no one asked its name.
David Watts
