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
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- for a barrow
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