The poetry sucked out, there is left
Coffee grounds of yesterday’s prose
Dark in the pot and murky
Tasting of ash and tears. No music.
The band has left, gone home to a
Hot dinner and a cold bottle, leaving only
Words that fall like
Breaking dishes on a tile floor.
Twice you have pledged to quit, and twice you lied
To believe you now is moral suicide.
You vowed to love me till the wide world’s end.
You lied. You have another pledged, yet once again
You swear to quit, like Ulysses homeward bound,
Storm tossed and vengeance crossed,
From witches island, from the wrath of Gods,
The best excuses in the world for being late
To raise your sons and daughters. I have woven
Every dream, unravelling by nights the web of lies
And every dawn, picked up the loom again
Rewove the fiction of belief.
I am no kind Penelope, but more like one
Who wove a poisoned cloak, a wedding gift,
And killed the children.
Do not mistake one woman for another.
We are not all from the same cloth.
If I should die
Before you then
I wonder, would you cry?
Bury the body that was me,
And simply pass me by?
If you should die
Before I leave,
I think that I shall try
Pretence at grief
And plant a large and leafy tree
Above the place you lie.
And I shall rest,
In that tree’s shade
Should I be blessed
With greater age.
And thank its generosity
For sheltering a nest.
That tree grown tall
As good trees do
Will remind all
As it feeds off you
That out of rottenness, in time
Nature makes all things sublime.