Raising the Dead

Raising the Dead
For Elizabeth Armstrong

I saw the Queen in rags today.
She was out in the misty grey.
Crowds drizzled down the streets,
passing her slowly as she shivered.

On her face she wore a patch,
seventeenth-century fashion,
frayed at the edge of her skin.
It changed continually,
matching like a mirror those who passed.


On her feet she wore red shoes,
and diamonds in her hair.
Her motley robe, all patched and drab,
flowed slowly in the heavy air,
and scraped the street filthy street.

She went down to the marketplace
crammed and noisy, stocked
with fragrant food and stuff,
jewels, ruffs, gowns and lace
and white paste for the face.

She plucked a diamond from her hair
and, shivering, handed it
to the Hag who sold dark wares.

Hecate heartily hawed.
"My dear," she grinned, "I've never seen
such a rag-bedraggled Queen."
She stuck the diamond on her cheek--
with a wink and a grin--
and gave the Queen a gown of linen.

Said the Queen:
"This a brave dress be,
but now I crave embroidery."
Said Hecate: "You'll have no lace
until you favor him with grace."

"And who is that?" implored the Queen.
"A mask, a star, an energy,
a dark eye that can see
the glyph upon your grave heart.

Exclaimed the Queen: "This silent one
a serpent be, the burning of my tongue."

Said Hecate: "Away with thee! Go find his grave.
On it place a pentacle,
and make it four dimensional.
His buried shanks like sulfur reek
and it's your salty sex they seek.'

The puzzled Queen walked away.
Skipping, dancing, to the grave went she,
to die in the embrace of Mercury.