This stone is marked out
with the illness caused
by an impromptu kinesis,
and with numbers.
The inscriptions were
probably torn away
during the civil wars
after her early death.
This stone ought to note
that she was a pastelist
and perfumer, given a
parchment ear, yet living.
She had kicked the bucket
in far harsher mastery
elsewhere, and had not
forgotten the humble.
Thirty-one years reading
medieval languages
weighted with proof
of flight and abdication.
Often broke, roving afresh,
she was the last person
who did not know where
to trouble the planet.
copyright © lcmt
This poem is included in The Wife of History and Other Planetary Characters, Intaglio Galosh Studio Press, 2011.
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Oraisons Funèbres
PoetryCan you disabuse glass of its transparency? Poems by Lin Tarczynski, dedicated to the memory of Melva Jo Lewis of Lompoc, California.
