Poem by Edith Mirick

Home

They are bringing her back
To the town where she played
As a girl.  Do not lift the black
Lid of the box to see how she has grayed.

Here let her rest.
This is the room she loved best,
Under the rows
Of books she used to read in the deep
Leather chair, her little toes
Dangling above the floor.

Shut the door.
Keep out the curious throng
Gathered to see her back
In the town where she played
As a girl.  Do not let them lift the black
Lid of the box to see how she has grayed.

1. Minotaur
2. Pins
3. Crooked Roads
4. Through Clearing Glass
5. Deirdre

Madison Cawein Home ("I dream again I'm in the lane")

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