The Young Widow Reflects

The Young Widow Reflects

Forgiveness comes hard

for the blue-bearded man.

I remember the love and joy

I offered for his charm.

But the bodies in the closet,

their reek of decay

and the dried blood

have made indelible stains

that won’t leave his hands.

Hands that felt so tender.

Strong, long-fingered, elegant hands.

Hands once filled with roses

or with jewels. Hands

that turned the key in the lock

on that little room.

I can still see the staring

decapitated heads.

He would have killed me too.

I had to do what I did.


Written 2005; recently rediscovered. I think I would rewrite the tale rather differently now – and perhaps I shall – but I think this version has its own validity.

Shared with Poets and Storytellers United's Writers' Pantry #28.