My Voice
Elegy for Magdalen
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Elegy For Magdalen
Some flesh holds tight to bone
even while fat crow
screams and rips.
But not Mother's.
With slack jaw
and crippled fist
she surrendered easy.
The crow, steady and
dry like a temperate wind,
circled, alit
and plucked each gray hair
to feather his nest,
each kidney
to feed young.
Now all that remains is stone and lilac,
her lovely, tired bones
and this grief,
drifting awkward
on a skiff made of paper.
Mary
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Elegy for Magdalen
Elegy for Magdalen
