Obituary

By Allen Tate

In memory of S. B. V., 1834-1909

... so what the lame four-poster gathered here

Between the lips of stale and seasoned sheets

Startles a memory sunlit upon the wall

(Motors and urchins contest the city streets)

While towards the bed the rigid shadows lean

Stung to the patience of all emptiness

And the bed empty where she kept,

Jerky gnats lunge at the haggard screen.

And now upstairs the lint that crusts the sills

Erodes in a windy shift along the floor.

Shall now her touselled eyes rinse out the haze

Of winter sprawled like a waif outside the door?

Feet answer: alternate and withdrawn

To the hard ease of lacquered pine that clamps

The shuffled fists into the breast and neck.

Time begins to elucidate her bones

Then you, so crazy and inviolate,

Will finger the console with a fearful touch,

Go past the horsehair sofa, the gilded frames

Whose faces are tired names

For the lifeblood that labors you so much.