An Inventory of Bones

the one bit
the one ground down
to gunpowder, to dust
and burning simmer against
the palm of your hand;
call me fossil, call me
wronged and calcified
indignance; the iron
stuck between your teeth,

the one sifting flames,
panning gold dust
from the water
of your blood.

call it teeth, this enamel
buried in your ribs;
is it fist or is it muscle
we seek in our chests,
or hearts that gasp
with lockjaw?

Joyce Chong lives in Ontario, Canada where she writes fiction, poetry, and other types of lies. Her work has appeared in Noble Gas Quarterly, alien mouth, Flapperhouse, and is forthcoming in Liminality Magazine. You can find her online at joycechong.ca, or you can follow her on Twitter at @JoyceEmilyC.