It is not just bones that she puts
in the crypt beneath the earth
bones are but a part of the whole
the tangible proof of death
that suggests to the mind something
beyond the ceasing of life

Some of her bones she keeps close
made into dice
that make funny noises in her cup and
some she made into jewels
that sing twinkling melodies of ages past on her skin
when she wears them for her walks
along the shores of ink-black rivers

Next to the bones
she keeps the homeless souls
forgotten things
poor things
safe with her
and free again to let go of the world

Inside her crypt
there is silence for the most part
all the things down there
sleep and they dream of purpose
and she seems to make purpose for herself
— the rattling of bone dice
and earrings made from human memories

Her footfall never makes a sound
when she enters her crypt
or when she leaves it

[In elementary school, Alexandra Seidel had a wonderful teacher who introduced her to the twelve labors of Hercules. This was the first Greek myth Alexandra ever read, and more followed later during five years of Latin at school, all of which left a deep impression on her mind and sometimes on her writing. Alexandra’s prose and poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Star*Line, Labyrinth Inhabitant Magazine, New Myths and others. Every once or twice, Alexandra blogs. She is never quite sure about what. Better go see for yourself.]