for a barrow

i've been hoarding silver
to bury in a barrow

i've been hoarding silver
and pottery, and wax

but in time which is now past i thought
to be drained of blood, so practical

just a handmaid--

just a handmaid to be buried in his barrow

that in the death life
i could serve him

as i served him in this life
my death body open as a rose

my death mouth full of
sweet, soft words

of reassurances
"Yours is a lovely barrow"

"You are beautiful in death,
 more so even than in life"

a nurse
concubine

never handfast or loved

but i've been hoarding silver
to bury in a barrow

and like a morel which one day
sprung from the soil

or a morning i never expected

i came to know that i would rather
collapse to bones in my own

than to rot in his
after drinking the draught

inscribed with his name
by his own hand