MISERÉ

I am bereft.
I am encoffered by silent nails in breathless walls.
I am mourner and unmourned.
Mad Pandora 
picked you like a lock and loosed the light.
And I, my fingered bowl
     outreached
to catch small alms,
met only empty echoes on dim air.
Shall I wear a black band around my heart
and keen of loss and shroud my eyes?
Or shall I don bright colors
and sing false songs and paint my face with joy?
Yes.
And yes.

I am bereft.
I take no comfort here.

Copyright © 1996,1997 Kathleen Anspach Preddy

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