The autopsy of Amanda Grey

Bones

She lived in a home she built from the sky down and,
Her body wondered out loud, "plug me in please," and she shushed it. SHHH. Body.

We are not made of things that can be recharged, and other things were meant to light up with electricity, but you and I, we run out when we do.

And she would nail down boards of her house, chimney and rooftop, and it would be difficult some days, building her house this way. Her knees would get scuffed up.

"Some things take sacrifice," she said to her knees. Matter-of-factly. And she painted the roof. She hammered and splinters stuck in her skin, but, she knew that the house would keep her safe. Someday.

And her lungs quivered, and knew they could not speak to this woman, paint on her cheeks and in her hair, splinters in her flesh, and bruises on her knees.

She hammered and hammered and sawed and built but she still had nowhere to sleep. "It will get done" and the bravest, the bravest of her body, finally spoke and her bones said, "Oh love, this will not do."