Poem of the Week

Spells for the Embalmers

I believe that you left the heart in place,
fringed with locks of gold wire.

That the blue tissue of the hands
was separately wrapped
in beaded net.

That the unprepared harmony
of palm wine and cedar oil
pealed at the same moment.

And a flimsy, waxed sail
that grew more and more threadbare
looped so riverwise about
the alder brim,

moon-like blades unlocked
the daily bread window.

-Medbh McGuckian, The BOOK of the ANGEL