Stones and Bones

They didn’t have a word for death. They barely had a word for life. They didn’t have much of

anything except good crops, clear mountain streams and the stones. A variety of animals peered

at them from behind giant trees and fish would leap out of the streams. They would work from

sunrise to sunset tending the crops, fishing or stacking the stones. They didn’t dance or shout or

sing or make jokes. They didn’t tell stories or recite poetry or have contests of speed or strength.

They procreated but had no word for pleasure. And the months went by without time or

calculations and the years went by without any idea they were different from the last. They made

tools for farming and slings to carry small ones in. They didn’t knit or sew or build anything

other than the stone towers. They didn’t bury their dead or lament over loss. They merely threw

them into the stream and turned their backs as the river carried them away. They didn’t cook

their food or drink anything other than water or goats milk. They didn’t have celebrations or

remember birthdays. They didn’t build fine buildings but lived among the trees. And every day

as the sun set they stacked the stones then lay down to sleep. They didn’t hug or kiss or shake

hands. They lived for a brief time and all they left to history was their fields of stones and their

bones.

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Tamara Yewchuk likes to construct tiny word houses that can be inhabited for many moons. She is an agitator, witch, experimental philosopher, artist and designer of cosy, bohemian spaces and fabulous parties. “The world needs strange writings.”