The Lonely Grave of Paula Schultz
Tonight, there’s been a burial.
A careless hammering of nails into a dry casket –
by men drunk on moonshine – breaks the night,
scattering the weevils and owls into the rising moon.
They’ve taken my words, my amour, my knife and
left me here to fill the lonely grave of Paula Schultz.
This cross I bear, is mine to carry for they’ve been
afraid too long – these men drunk on moonshine.
Afraid, when they peeked into my tent to watch
me put on my girdle, gather my bow and arrow
and swing the pelta around my one breast. Afraid,
ever since I rode through the wild crags of Pontus,
kicking up the dust to leave them momentarily blinded.
Tonight, there’s been a burial.
The stars die and I have a night to call my own. The
casket hits the ground and earth pounds hard on its shell.
Darkness smooths out my ragged breath. I remember
Deborah’s Song and hum the tune. Soon the raging
desert winds that once muffled the cries of Sisera
will fill the lonely grave of Paula Schultz.
***
the hours i keep
i’ll pretend i didn’t
hear the rain last night
that it didn’t lash out
on the roof
that it didn’t soak the
clothes on the line
that it didn’t rouse me
from my sleep
i’ll pretend i didn’t
hear the rain
i’ll pretend there are
no stories or verses today
hidden in the half light
waiting to be
put down on paper
that they don’t
rhyme and punctuate
to draw us in
or leave us out
i’ll pretend there are
no stories or verses today
i’ll pretend there is
no tea this morning
that it’s not lapping
against a gold rim
that it will not steam
my glasses
that it will now goad me
out from my bed
i’ll pretend there is
no tea this morning
i’ll pretend i don’t
know where you live
or what you do
that you like walnuts
and your sky grey
that sometimes you don’t
listen to things
i have to say
i’ll pretend i don’t
know anything about you
i’ll pretend there wont
be any more of this –
rain, teas, stories, verses and walnuts –
that they don’t fill up my hours
that they don’t pack up my days
in neat little
cardboard boxes
till they leave me in a silent catacomb
i’ll pretend there won’t
be any more of this
***
