Old aunt gossip has shown up
to buttonhole me about you,
asking can I confirm the news
that they have taken you
to the big house, and the flowers that insulate
our grief cannot protect me
from the glint
in her eye.
How careful she is, how
considerate of her prize,
that incubated frisson hanging
on a word
that will reveal the Titillator of Souls’
true incarnation as she retires
to her nest of tongues
to incant how
she knew it she knew it
he was no good
for just one death
is such a paltry thing.
Grey Sparrow Journal 