Mary Finnegan

The Road of Bones

To reach the pole of ferocity, one must cross the bent spine

of the Kolymskya trassa. It is best to limit visits to the month

of October after the road is purged of springtime’s fallen trees

and before summer’s mud freezes into a sepulcher of ice and invisibility.

No matter the time of year, this road is not for the gutless.

One mistake can lead to death. There are rapacious bears. Truck drivers,

hungry, blind-drunk, and road-ravaged, may occasionally take aim at humans

instead of reindeer. And, of course, the ticks cause encephalitis.

This highway was built by the Zek, elite volunteers, special settlers

of the curative island country of Gulag. Despite their misfortunes,

the Zek dug deep within, devoted themselves completely to this road’s

construction so Stalin could have his gold and silver, his platinum and oil.

When no rock was available, the Zek donated their bones.

When mortar was nowhere to be found, they gave the meat off their femurs,

buttocks, biceps. Their livers and hearts and lungs filled the gaps

between dirt and stone. Nothing was wasted, not even their bulleted brains.

There are no maps to guide one through this land. There is only

a single road and everyone knows where it leads. Like its former inhabitants,

visitors may find themselves stranded due to grave conditions.

If this occurs, don the mask of sorrow. Upon leaving, forget everything.

Mary R. Finnegan is a freelance writer and editor. Her poetry, essays, and stories can be found in Ekstasis, Lydwine Journal, American Journal of Nursing, Catholic Digest, Amethyst Review, Convivium, and elsewhere. She is the Social Media Editor at Dappled Things and Deputy Editor at Wiseblood Books. Mary is currently pursuing her MFA in Creative Writing at the University of St. Thomas in Houston.