Monday, December 28, 2020

Poem: A Widow

 A Widow


a widow culls

the lies of men,

smiling still,

wanton as she goes,

 

shack to shack,

or mansions of the heart,

every accident or bed

beleaguered.

 

ants to lions, none remark.

 

but humanity, profuse,

gasps to curse when lungs stall,

cashiering chains and chores.

 

elephants, they dwindle down tusky roads.

 

but ill to violent crowds

beat on misunderstood ground,

mawkish as they sink,

clutching their wasted lives.

 

birds chirp last fermatas.

insects chirr in choirs.


these, the widow feels,

never turn to dust.

 

only those tethered to tombstones,

or ladderlike prayers,

or who cling to lists of what wasn’t or was--

because because because …

 

and so it goes,

shack to shack, bed to bed,

mansions of the heart,

wherever desperation lies naked.





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I would prefer to use "wym" instead of the male-aligned "men."  "Wym" escapes gender.  But the neologism would be distractive.


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