HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT

And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot

Monday, April 02, 2007
The elbalmer's art
Press down his lids. Unfold
the lines under his eyes,
as though tearing

off a creased love note.
Drain these tears, the cause
of so much rot. Fill

the hollows of a heart
that failed him - cement and chemical.
The body is only a boat

we steer till disembarking.
I polish the wood
till it gleams the unearthly colour

of gold. He is dead now,
no one would want
to touch him.

I paint his lips, adding the last
stroke of colour to close
the circle, locking it shut.

[publishing] Publishers Weekly . Dystel & Goderich . New York Center for Independent Publishing . Association of American University Presses . Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators

[people] clarisse . nurul . aunty zarina (ummi's bakery) . jeremy . pak . cyril . softblow . karen & kenny (booksactually) . eric . joel .

[other loves] digitaljournalist . ballet dictionary . poetshouse . urbanwordnyc

[me] dawn, singapore, new york city, ithaca.

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