The Boudoir
She was a pallor woman, says the mirror on the
Wall above her bureau: A tranquil woman too,
Says her diary which lay near her bed on the
Floor; and a deathless woman, says the crimson
Stain upon her blouse that lay draped over a
Chair in the corner of the room; but not one
For sunlight, say the black velvet cloak that
Lay neatly on her bed.
She lived alone, says the empty room next to
Hers; She was barren, says the long black
Dress that was worn; money was not a problem,
Says the antique furniture around the room; and
Her heart cold, says the silence that floats
Forever throughout the dusty bedchamber.
Something went wrong, says the lingering scent
Of death in the room. The faded painting -of
Darkness on a cold winter night- on her
Wall, say her life was an immoral one; untouched
Morsels left on delicate china that sits on the
End table, says she never felt hunger. And her
Victims? Never to be found or seen again-their
Bodies left lifeless on some unknown terrain.
Something went wrong, they say.
This is a dark poem in the form of "Abandoned Farmhouse" by Ted Kooser
Copyright © Grace A Gagnon | Year Posted 2007
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