A story of bones

A bone worries, left abandoned in an inky black space. Muscles have departed and there are gaps between connections. The whole skeletal system is finding it painful to stand still, polite and upright – no sloughing.


These elemental structures, these rocks within us move if we’d only listen. Steve Paxton’s smalldance.

Like marble – crystalline and without straight lines. Refreshingly queer bones always adapting and expressing histories, growth, memories suspended in a pearly red soup shimmering around us. A bone mobile hanging from the ceiling.

So, where do the aches come from? Tired to my bones I was. Tired to the bone. Now not but how endlessly time stretches when your bones feel emotions. Joyous bones? Light bones? Confident and secure bones.

They are so able.

Bones quietly go about their business. Working in the ultimate community. Negotiating with the others and with gravity but keeping their own individual integrity with no desire to be anything else. My clavicle will never want to be my little toe. It is fine clavicle-ing.

I have a lot to learn from my bones.