Charity of The Dead
Published in Utah Valley University's Warp & Weave Speculative Journal Publication. Fall 2021 Volume 19, pp.22
Sitting upon a sunny seat, I quiet muse.
Bygone days present upon my mind
inconsciousness they frolic and fuse.
And yet perplex me too.
Once upon a time ago, into shoppe I stepped.
Advertised a bōchord collection,
but museums title better kept.
I beg for charity.
A half-moon rested or' the oaken heavy door.
Wealth exuded through wood, leather, and dusty shelf.
faux mahogany façade on floor.
Standing in darkened street.
Smell of antique dust and leather bound books entomb.
Armories made of crystal. Fortunes cost.
Scripted runes, etched in inked quills of doom,
a form of measured wealth.
Wand'ring in awe, I sought the master bookmaker.
At leisure one shoppe matron did lounge.
Writing pen on archaic paper.
Jewels set in fingers rings.
I approach tenative with a smile's winning beam.
Her dour lidded eyes look me down.
A troubloudour's cause I now do beg.
Her face creased in a frown.
"I boon for flowered grove of dancer's oh so fair.
I wish Madame, coin for festive troupe,
FUSE dance and writing, a lovely pair.
On pointe and print we toil."
She sent a lofty look upon my poor faux pas.
"Master gives to only to foreign lands,
foundlings humble for our noble cause."
Voice barely veiled scorn.
Her lofty language eluded my meager plea
and judged me meager in my value.
Rejected thus I did banished flee.
Corrupted hallowed halls.
Sounds of anguish follow from tomes of classic lore.
Raise'ed dust of bygone skin and bone
against the flesh to the living poor.
Old words beg to be read.
Writers mind, slow of speech, I wish that I had said:
"Lady why seek ye on distant shores,
when artist here are so near to dead,
and weep before thy door."
I will not seek your master oxidizing coin.
Nor Madam your condescending spite.
My writers heart with dancer's will join.
Written song, epic flight.
Without this book mongers hypocrisy and aide.
Our troop will find honorable ways.
Write and dance alive and unafraid.
Leave dears to their dusk.
--LRC 2020