ELIZABETH SPIRES
The Frame
The once-bright silwr d,lrkening. A fi-a nle
framing a gone likeness of yo u. Snow outside.
A coldness in the rOOI11. Your voice on the telephone,
lost and un sure. Words going back and f()rth ,
and then a click, white
~ikncl'
filling up the line.
Alone, I slip you out of the fi-ame to hold
Jnd hold onto, light seeping through the sepia
tones to color the girl that you once were. On fire.
Your own proud creature. The world at hl'el.
A pride that carried yo u through tarnishl'd years.
13ut time would not stop f()I- you and so you darkl'nl'd
like a Fury and raged ,It all yo u 'd loved,
or made, or married ,
13('IYtl),<,II,
you cried ,
"y
till!
And everything wi thdrl'w, granting you dOI11inion
of a pLlce where nothing could live, nothing
except yo u. 13ut (kath is the great apologist.
It levels harsh Iandscapl's, it softens the hard lines
in your tlCl' and changes the bitterness of nll'l11ory
into something bitterswl'et, no longer gall.
The hard hills that you loved are now no I11Ol"e
than gently sloping mou11ds roundl'd by f:llling snow.
And knowing what I know, I know that days unim,lginable
wait. They wait for us . You will bl' mourned.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE
Burial
Perhaps one sultry, somber night,
Behind some hovd-crumbling, old–
A tender- hearted Christian might
13ury your body, late extolled.
