When I signed for her ashes
I received her, as once
she received me
into her lyric hold
and let me ride anchor there,
smaller than the letter alif.
They gave her into my hands,
seven pounds, two ounces,
as once they had given
me into her hands.
I set her on the hearth shrine,
as she set me once a place at her table,
among her other needy charities.
After nine months I scattered her
back to that cold, delphine Atlantic of hers,
to tidal squalls that rip
and sigh their salt across the rocks,
as once she let me fall
onto this world's
gasping, shouting, love-stained shore.
Nocturnes of the Brothel of Ruin
Four Way Books
Copyright © 2012 by Patrick Donnelly
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission