Friday, August 24, 2012

An Old Poem

The Day After

Last night,
I dreamt of sati,
but the woman would not die.

From the burning pyre,
she wailed to a man,
"Please!  Throw more fire
on me!  Make me burn faster!"

He let her suffer.

She called him by name.

Her skin was blackened,
her eyeballs white.

I woke in a sweat
and felt the empty
side of our bed.

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