If left alone, human nails will penetrate rock—not left alone as in to one’s own devices but abandoned. And not penetrate as in to burrow through, or to have one’s way with, but over time, taking the ashes to ashes, dust to dust route. I say this conscious of a future moment where they are finding an impression of a human, like rings of a tree, vibrations glowing like infrared movement, but still, in a rock, in a cave—a human curled up in the fetal position. What would have been their toenails are in the next rock.

The next feeling I get is a wave of dread moving over my body in the dark. And the next scene is me turning on the light to write this down as I notice a chill making my wife’s body wriggle, as if someone has just walked over her grave.


About genemyers

Gene Myers is a New Jersey poet, music journalist and columnist who learned to walk twice. His weekly column is called The Joy of Life. He was awarded first place in Arts and Entertainment Writing by The New Jersey Press Association.
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