Cenotaph - Poem by Erin Monahan
I stroke your crumbled bones,
sun baked and weather-worn
in a desert graveyard.
I fondle the ivory relics of your name,
beat them into the earth
with the drums of my feet.
You don't answer.
Have you forgotten, in sewn-eyed darkness,
or do you still whisper,
as I do, in elephant songs?
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