Ezekiel 37:1-14

It was quiet at first, just a faint rattling,
until the sound of each joint slamming joint
filled the air in deafening clamor. Gusted wind
screamed, I prophesied words not mine, and now
all I hear is the manifold shuffle of feet.

Thousands upon thousands make their way
out of the valley, still dry, no longer filled with
bones but bodies. They chatter, meander out.
Back to business, back to laundry and carpools and
man! all those notifications on their phones.

They’re alive, that’s for sure.
They’ll also die again. That’s for sure.
But for now, their second chance commenced,
eyes not yet fully bright and lungs still half-filled,
they leave. They head into life. Budding life.

Maybe they’ll remember this exodus as the time
it began. Or maybe they’ll see one long beginning.
Maybe, when things get tough and their bones ache
under the weight of all that laundry, some will return
to this valley just to recall the feeling of breeze.

Maybe. For now, in their second countdown to
death and dry bones, they no longer grow old.
They will not decay. After all, the four winds still
blow, their eyes grow ever-more illuminate, and
as they walk they are more and more alive.

Ana Yee ’21 is a junior in Kirkland House studying the History of Science.