Easy to forget hot wings
were once feathered
just as easy to forget
these bones were once people
I slip away from my tour
of the Catacombs to wander alone
to hold someone’s skull in my hand
marvel at its fragility
This sonnet is not about death
though we’re all going to die
and Shelley did it better
So I return the skull to its place
like a naughty child caught playing
with a delicate porcelain angel
(For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Catacomb.)
About Bartholomew Barker
Bartholomew Barker is an organizer of Living Poetry, a collection of poets in the Triangle region of North Carolina where he has hosted a monthly feedback workshop for more than decade. His first poetry collection, Wednesday Night Regular, written in and about strip clubs, was published in 2013. His second, Milkshakes and Chilidogs, a chapbook of food inspired poetry was served in 2017. He was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2021. Born and raised in Ohio, studied in Chicago, he worked in Connecticut for nearly twenty years before moving to Hillsborough where he lives and writes poetry.
Bartholomew Barker, Poet 
Thought provoking Bart …
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Thanks, Ivor.
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That last stanza, that one.
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Thanks. I wasn’t sure about the ending. Glad it worked for you.
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Loved this and the ending worked for me too! ❤❌❤
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Thanks! If you haven’t visited the Catacombs yet, I strongly encourage it.
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❤❌❤
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Wonderful, Bart! You give us so much to ponder about existence in this piece. :)
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Thanks, Susi, but don’t work too hard on it. Sometimes a skull is just a skull.
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True, but a skull is a skull. ;)
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