Beatrice
I remember the skin
on your bald head,
smooth and glowing
white, like a moon
green flashing eyes–
a smiling viper with
full red lips and
nails like flames shooting
from your fingertips.
How could anyone so sick
be quite so sharp
and beautiful?
after you left,
we found ourselves
stuffing newspapers
into empty Levi’s
and a black cashmere sweater,
a foam wig-holder head
motorcycle-boots, shoes.
It wasn’t until we put
our golem
into your favorite seat
at the end of the
yellow-flowered,
grandmother couch
that we realized,
we had tried
to recreate you.
Published in the anthology, Radical Dislocations: Best New Underground Poets, 2013.
Photo by Michael Dziedzic on Unsplash
Catherine Seitz Nichols 