Little Elegy

by Susie Meserve

I think of you like ball peen hammers, tapping
a hall of mirrors.
Like the foghorn on a clear day.

(Is death abrupt, like wind seizing a house?
In that box so close I thought to leap up in my skirt and hat
and pull off the lid it didn’t seem so.
She just rolled off without a hitch.)

I have murdered you, darling.
Now I shake snow off the bulbs,
say prayers for the earthquakes,
for the oboes and flutes and jazz trombones,
for the prayers, for the pray ers,
for your ghosts.  They are all around the house.
Trust you to have more than one.