Which bone of mine opens the door back home?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A. My malleus, timpani that first percussed with my mother\u2019s voice,<\/p>\n\n\n\n
B. my hyoid, anchor that dredged up all my boldest words, like I love you<\/em> and I\u2019ll always be here for you<\/em> and pee makes the trees die<\/em>,<\/p>\n\n\n\n C. my femur, hammering me around the track\u2019s last corner, the crowd cheering, my mouth a tinderbox of pennies and phlegm,<\/p>\n\n\n\n D. or my phalanx, showing my girls how to pluck notes from a sunflower\u2019s sunbaked head?<\/p>\n\n\n\n E. My vomer, bearing the smell of eager apples penduluming in a high desert orchard,<\/p>\n\n\n\n F. or my stapes, dithering even now to the confidence of toddlers with too-few teeth chomping down on golden carrots still dressed in dirt?<\/p>\n\n\n\n G. Nothing, because I\u2019m too old, the magic of childhood lost as my bones fused together,<\/p>\n\n\n\n H. or nothing, because a door opens only upon receipt of what I\u2019m not willing to sacrifice?<\/p>\n\n\n\n I. My calcaneus, the pain of stepping on toy blocks in the carpet at night,<\/p>\n\n\n\n J. my mandible, the pain of tasting bitterness in the citrus I took out a mortgage just to try,<\/p>\n\n\n\n K. or my radius, the pain of forgetting to remember the last time I held my last child,<\/p>\n\n\n\n L. or my ethmoid, the pain of having not come home sooner from this trip far, far, to the end of the world,<\/p>\n\n\n\n M. or my carpals, the pain of letting them hurt me just so I could hear their apologies, touch their whole cheek, back when they were young, their bones so soft and malleable and full of magic?<\/p>\n\n\n\n ________<\/p>\n\n\n\n Joel Hans has published short stories in <\/em>West Branch, <\/em>No Tokens, <\/em>Puerto del Sol, <\/em>The Masters Review, Redivider, and others. He holds an MFA from the University of Arizona and previously served as the managing editor of <\/em>Fairy Tale Review. He lives in Tucson, Arizona with his family.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"