Section/Grave/Block, Flushing NY

“Charon, the ferryman of the dead, his hand on the boat-pole, calls me now: ‘Why are you tarrying? Make haste, you hinder my going!’ He speaks impatiently, urging me on with these words.”
Alcestis (255) Euripides

Inside, your heart weakly beating, rigors rising, wounds weeping – they are sad, too,
overwhelmed, out of options – and you are at the end of your bones.
Outside, it is late in the yellowed afternoon. Beyond windows and walls, beyond buildings
and borders, in the gray misery of the river, is the skull-adorned
bony spine of the boat we all know. As your first-born, and, now, your guide down this
particular path, I am also out of options, with nowhere else to go.

I should have money to lend, extra funds of any kind. You suggested I save, but I didn’t
listen, so I have no coins for your journey. Let’s not pay Charon anyway!
We can just say we are lost and blame my bad map skills. Or proclaim we are on the outs:
we won’t join queues, follow his rules. Still, you seem resigned,
ready for the river, on your way to slip through. Don’t give in to him! Stay with us on this
side; don’t make the grim choice to cross forever.

So let’s not pay Charon! I don’t mind being haunted if you don’t mind a hundred years
wandering around down and out on the riverbed. We love purgatories,
right? So many cautionary tales come from crowded limbos: those delicious, treacherous
spaces. Perhaps you met Charon before, were introduced, briefly,
so you know when it is your time to cross the river it won’t include me. Charon isn’t confused
by my presence; he knows this is our first nodding acquaintance.

In the late afternoon, they come in and prepare you. In the late afternoon, comes sullen Charon
in his precarious boat. Expecting his tip.
But I won’t let him touch your bones. Would never let him touch your bones.

If you get in, in there, in his makeshift boat, you will never be out here, on the outside, again.

Please don’t say you’ll pay Charon! He’s ugly and surly and nobody likes him. Don’t look at
him or meet his knowing gaze. Go no contact! I’ll be all about keeping Charon’s
chaos under control, organize the future within an inch of our lives because organization insists
on more time. If you get in, you will be beyond the realm of my vision.
If you get in, he will whisk you away! And I know why you won’t let me dip in a testing toe
or two: I wasn’t raised to be charming; I have nothing to barter or trade.

In the late afternoon, comes churlish Charon in his flat, low boat. You pull your eyes open,
so you can see me, one last time, keenly, bright, in the artificial light.
Sometimes night comes early. Soon it will be too dark to see. I am here, outside, where I will
keep an eye on the world for you. Oh, but inside is my own heart,
my own organs, my own bones! For now, they are still ripe and whole. You board the boat;
Charon has lost all patience, and it is time to go.

At the End of My Bones

Who were these bones for if not for you.
Watch me and wait for the wearing away. Slim, long, thin
on the scan: hairline fractures everywhere.
You’ll slice your fingers open following the patterns, so don’t
trace my splits at the neck, the thighs, the hips.
Sharp points at the turned-up collar. Bonds broken between
bumps and bones. Shocks in back. Small breaks
in spaces. Sudden collapse. This won’t end well. Neither
surgery nor medicine will fix this mess.

Who was this body for if not for you.
I wait my turn while you watch and wait for the wearing
away. Stay with me. Our uneasy relationship
with memory. Still, imagine us the way we were.
Everything in its place then. Pulling its own
weight then. Those whole dull-edged bones, covered top to bottom
with smooth skin. So soft, so lovely. Watch
and wait for what happens next and when. We won’t wait
long for it to set in. Watch me wearing away.

Naomi Bess Leimsider’s poetry book, Wild Evolution, was published by Cathexis Northwest Press in June 2023. In addition, she has a poetry chapbook forthcoming from Finishing Line Press in Winter 2026. She has published poems, flash fiction, and short stories in numerous journals. She has been afinalist for the Acacia Fiction Prize, the Saguaro Poetry Prize, and the Tiny Fork Chapbook Contest. In 2022, she received a Pushcart Prize nomination for fiction.

Image: Rijksmuseum, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons