They’re taking her jewels
Pulling sheets from her bed
Is there really no rest for the dead?
They’re picking at pearls
Like vultures on the dead
Like greedy maggots swarming a head
I see it. It’s sick
I want to stop and cry
My composure begins to rot: die
“But there is no use
For clothes or perfumes
for a body recently exhumed.”
Their words convince me
Poisonous candy
A sober mind tainted with sweet brandy
I dam up the tears
I pick up a small case
A sullen smile adorned in lace
Pictures mean nothing
An apprehensive hand
Takes a frame from her old, worn nightstand
It shattered so soon
My fingers turn scarlet
I adorn myself with her garnet
Down beneath the skin
The flesh turns so rotten
After death we are all soon forgotten
Hers soon becomes mine
Take amethyst that shines
The moon in my hand; so quickly it dies