A Lament - The Body

To climb these stairs again, bearing a tray

Might be to find you pillowed with your books

Your inventories listing gowns and frocks

As if preparing for a holiday

Or, turning from the landing, I

Might find my presence watched through your kaleidoscope

A symmetry of husbands

Each redesigned in lovely forms of foresight

Prayer and hope

I climb these stairs a dozen times a day, and

By the open window, wait, looking in at where you died

My hands become a tray

Offering me, my flesh, my soul, my skin

Grief wrongs us so

I stand and wait

And cry for the absurd forgiveness

Not knowing why