ArsenicA Poem by Eleanor MelansonA poem about the ghosts of women after they killed their husbands with arsenic.All the pretty skeletons are dressed in Brussels Lace Spilling birthday confetti from their spider cracked face.
Golden wheat ringlets framing hollow sockets. Fleshless hands searching for poison vials in empty pockets.
Their fingers adorned in jewels, their throats adorned; hyperbole They dip and curtsy, fanning their tattered dresses like royalty.
A matrimonial pest control with strychnine, and wallpapered cyanide.
But The Resurrection Men now leave empty-handed For the corpora delicti are still moving, still commanded.
Their limbs aflutter with velocity, their bodies light, and swinging, Their faces alight with melody, they dance around the fire singing:
“We bathe our bones in arsenic, we bathe our bones in tea We wait to rest our marrow, beneath the Willow tree.” © 2018 Eleanor Melanson |
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1 Review Added on January 31, 2018 Last Updated on January 31, 2018 Tags: Arsenic, Poison, dark poetry, ghosts, Victorian Author
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