At Her Grave

So much was groomed,
the ground lay bare
and closed to seed.
Who among us cared
for the long dead?

She cozened her braid
with nothing to trade.
She shut the door
to men who raged
before they died.

I saw her last
as she’d seen me first,
a glow in her eye,
tears frozen in mine.
Her coffin opened

under the crowbar.
I lay inside
yet stayed out where
no scream would reach
or horse be sold.

Her braid was all
mixed in with ash
and the rotting wood.
The horse was dead,
sky soaked with blood.

(16 October 2012)

copyright 2012 by Floyce Alexander