Message from a Grave

David Walker

"|... His Wife, Anne Truitt, d. Nov 20 1853, aetat 26"

Husband: when you turn aside, even these stones
Will cry out, for now I have become them;

And the roses you handed down, as though
Over my breast-I could ask their thorns to tear

At your fond smile. If ever there was laughter
From my mouth, it has turned filth; and what flows

Through my eyes now, is not tears... .
                                  The wind hauls
Your voice away, yet I beg the distance between us

For nothing-and who, even crammed with prayer,
Would bend for love as far down as my face:

Its thick nest of veins, its flesh and sinew
Burned black over the bluish jawbone?
                                  Husband,
Wallow your grief as beast in sty; for I
Am second nature now, and from my arms

Opening, pushing upward to the terrible
Light-regard this stone,

Glistening, conceive the relentless rain.