A Memory Of Bones Poem by Ndubuisi Martins

Fumnaya,
I remember your face, the full beauty of it now gone quiet, I remember your smile, the fluorescent glow of it in my dark days...

What do I call you, now, that your body is dust, wilting away through all feet that tread it?

What memory do I have of your bristling body - ebony black; fresh like the early leaves touched by the dew?

Do I call this a memory of bones, now that you're no flesh that I can hold, touch and feel its pulse?