i have found a poet that i love and his name is Jack Gilbert
"How to love the dead"
she lives, the bird says, and means nothing
silly. She is dead and available,
the fox says, knowing about the spirits.
not the picture of the funeral,
not the obect of grieving. She is dead
and you can have that, he says. If you can
love without politeness or delicacy
the fox says, love her with your wolf heart,
as the dead are to be desired.
Not the way long marriages are,
nothing happening again and again,
Not in the woods or in the fields.
Not in the cities. The painful love of being
permanently unhoused. not color, but the stain.
GUILTY
The man certainly looked guilty.
Ugly, ragged and not clean. Not to mention
their finding him there in the woods
with her body. Neighbors told how he was
always playing with dead squirrels,
mangled dogs, even snakes. He said
those were the only things that would
allow him to get close. "look at me"
the old man said with uncomplaining
simplicity, "Im already one of the dead
among the dead. Its hard to watch things
humiliated the way death does it.
Possums smeared on the road, birds with
ants eating out their eyes. Even dying rats
want privacy for their disgrace.
Its true I washed the dirt off of her face
and the blood off her body. combed her hair.
I slept beside her, at her feet for two days,
the way my dog used to. I got the dress
on the best i could. She looked so neglected.
Like garbage thrown in the weeds.
Like nobody cared he had done that to her.
I kept thinking how long she is going to be
alone now. I knew the police would take
pictures and put them in the papers naked
and open so people eating breakfast could
look at her. I wanted to give her
spirit enough time to get ready."
