Practicing (attempting?) occasional poetry, week two


Wife crashes her own funeral, horrifying her husband, who had paid to have her killed

February 5, 2016

Surprise! I’m still alive!
In olden times, when your brains were out,
you died. But do they now rise again?
Which of you have done this?
You cannot say I did ought.
I stand here. I see her.
This is more strange
than any murder—
I do forget.

Surprise! I’m still alive!
But do not muse at me, my most worthy friends.
Give me wine! Love and health to us all!
Let us drink to my dear wife, Noela,
whom we miss. And do not see.
Would she were here!
Quit my sight, fiend,
your flesh is cold,
marrowless. . . .

Surprise! I’m still alive!
Take any shape but hers, and my nerves shall yet—
Cold breath gives shape to the heat of deeds. . . .
Hence, horrible shadow! I am free of you!
Hence, unreal thing—! They too see?
Credit not my strange self-abuse
to being steeped in her blood.
I am her man! Sit still,
bloody Noela. I—

No comments:

Post a Comment