Sonnet for a Dead Broad
Those fields of wrinkles round her sightless eyes—
Who claims responsibility for those?
What craven coward dared to stigmatize
Those Cupid’s-bow lips, that aquiline nose?
What hand despoiled this classic symmetry,
Sunk satin cheek and pitted placid brow?
Who destroyed this masterpiece?
J’accuse me!
Denounced too late to undo damage now.
Had I now the power—or wisdom then—
Her pristine face should not receive my mark.
Turn back, oh clock, begin anew again!
Let her dance in light. Let me lie in dark.
In the shrouded dignity of death, she is free.
And I am trapped in life, wrapped in her memory.