Rosemary, for Remembrance

Ophelia’s flowers have gone.

Broken, faded, her smile is twisted, she sings a mad bird’s song.

“Oh my love, oh my day, come and take my life away. I’ve waited under this wretched moon, and now the cold dark calls so soon.

I’ll go floating, my stern upended, flowers strewn and love suspended

under the willow tree I talked of so; now, sweet fawn, feels long ago.”

She glides across the empty stage, oblivious in her maddened haze

“Don’t you love to hear midnight laugh?”

Her own falls out twinkling, a sound as daft

For the midnight she sees, leering down in her dreams

Flying, humming, twirling around the room, she stops.

It might be over soon.

Gentle and modern, choked up and sodden

She’s broken her

(Chissit, chassit)

Brown woven basket

Petals scatter to the floor

And Ophelia doesn’t smile anymore.